


The Secret of Tango

by Seldarius



Series: Phryniverse [7]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phryniverse, Tango, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-03 21:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 113,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20720996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: Jane's excited preparations for her debut come to a screeching halt when one of her dancing teachers drops dead. A case after Phryne's taste, who uses the chance to work on her tangoing skills with handsome Julian. The Inspector, meanwhile, faces temptations of his own and soon they are sucked into a whirlwind of passions that might prove more dangerous than they'd anticipated.





	1. Flamenco

**Author's Note:**

> I'm continuing to copy over my old fics. This one was originally posted on fanfiction.net from 28/11/14 until 25/01/15. Enjoy!

Flickering flames illuminated the man leaning at the mantelpiece, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. He was currently smiling at a woman standing near the parlour door.

“I can't shoot you if you look at me like this,” she complained.

“You are aware that you are not supposed to actually kill me, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, calmly draining his glass. Phryne rolled her eyes at him without letting her gun sink.

“I have no intentions to hurt you, now hold still.”

The Inspector obeyed, swallowing down any comment on how he still wasn't particularly comfortable with the barrel of a weapon aimed at his chest. If she had been anyone but Phryne he wouldn't have allowed her to. Sadly he wasn't only willing to entrust his life to her, he also found he was completely unable to deny her anything much. So, he just watched his wife in silence as she walked closer, her arm with the golden gun outstretched.

“Peng,” she said quietly. Jack realised that he had been shot and dropped, attempting to not hit himself in the face with the whisky tumbler nor set his clothes on fire.

She laughed.

“That was shocking, Jack.”

When he opened his eyes, ready to protest, he found her kneeling beside him.

“He could've never fallen that way if she shot him from there,” she stated calmly. “It's impossible.”

Jack stared up at his wife, trying to hold onto his thoughts on their perplexing murder case. It was rendered hard by the flames causing her eyes to sparkle and her contented expression waking in him the urge to kiss her.

“You were right then? Suicide?” he asked hoarsely, pulling himself up onto his elbows.

“I told you that she was in love with him, she wouldn't have hurt him,” Phryne replied, holding his gaze with her mouth only inches from his.

“People do the strangest things for love,” the Inspector protested, before he surrendered and pulled her lips down to his. The resurfaced somewhat breathless a few moments later.

“Maybe even pretend to murder someone,” Phryne grinned, her fingers trailing down his chest.

“This isn't a good idea, Miss Fisher,” Jack pointed out, without struggling. “Jane-”

“-is at Madame Claudine's, learning to foxtrot,” Phryne finished while she opened his tie with talented fingers.

“And as I recall, Mr. Butler is having a date...” Jack whispered, his fingers starting to unbutton her blouse.

Phryne only smiled and leaned in to nibble on his neck. The Inspector groaned quietly when her lips touched his sensitive skin, sending sparkles through her stomach.

“Still, we are in the middle of the parlour,” he protested, but realised that he didn't stand a chance. He allowed his eyes to fall shut, giving into her roaming hands.

“You are too proper, Inspector,” Phryne smiled. That was an insult he would not have and a second later a surprised screech cut through the quiet house, as Mrs. Robinson found herself flat on her back.

“That was a very unfair manoeuvre, Jack,” she protested, but he just sealed her mouth with a passionate kiss.

“I've learned from the best.”

As if to prove that his hand ran up her side, caressing her through the separating fabric.

“I've always taken you for a devoted study,” she teased while her fingers slipped to the buttons of his pants. Jack could barely keep his hips from jerking, as he breathlessly waited for her touch.

“Mrs. Robinson! Inspector!”

Jack retreated with such speed that he almost did end up in the fireplace. Phryne managed to close her blouse just in time before a panting Constable Collins appeared in their parlour door.

“Hugh?”

She was already on her feet while Jack was still busy swallowing down his annoyance with Phryne's overeager idea of having a connecting door with their neighbours. While he fully understood why she would want to keep Dorothy Collins near, it left the two police officers married to the women in a somewhat strange position of almost, if not quite, living together. And Constable Collins was possibly the very last person in the world, who Jack wanted to catch him rolling around the parlour floor in a state of half dress.

Hugh, however, did currently seem not particularly observant in regards to unbuttoned clothes and missing ties, instead stumbling over his words.

“Mrs. Robinson, it's coming. The baby...”

Phryne threw a look at Jack, who was hurriedly buttoning up his vest.

“Jack, telephone for the midwife,” she ordered, before her husband had caught up with the events.

“Where is Dot?” she asked Hugh, dragging him back into the hallway.

The Inspector watched in stunned silence as Phryne and the Constable disappeared, then finally made a dash for the hall, when he stumbled over something. He picked the golden weapon from where it had been carelessly discarded on the floor sometime between their experiment and... other things. He made a mental note to have a word with Phryne in regards to her pistol. After all it wasn't a toy. Yet, he couldn't help but smile as he tentatively snapped open the cylinder. He nodded before he closed it again. So he had been right.

A knock tore him from his thoughts and reminded him that there was a rather urgent call to attend to. A few hurried steps later he arrived in the hall, ripping the door open with little consideration of who would visit their house at this time of night. The person on the porch was one he would have expected.

“You could just tell me it's a bad time,” Mac quipped happily.

“Hmm?” Jack made, before he realised that he was still clutching Phryne's gun in his right hand.

“Actually, your timing seems rather perfect,” he grinned, stepping aside. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him while the Inspector finally went to use the telephone.

X

The air seemed to crackle as she spun away from him, but a strong hand ripped her back into his grasp. With glittering eyes she pressed herself against him, his hand tenderly slipping over her back, before she struggled free from his embrace with the very next beat. When the last notes trailed away, someone clapped. Camila turned, sweat glittering on her forehead, her jewellery sparkling in the light. She blinked with some confusion at the girls standing in the doorway, but caught herself quickly and hinted a curtsey. Her dancing partner was still catching his breath and managed to paint a smile onto his lips, while his eyes stared at the lady standing between the young girls with barely hidden annoyance. 

“As you can see, Ladies, this is a quite different kind of dancing,” Madame Claudine explained, without tearing her gaze from the scowling man. “It takes passion and many years of practice to become this enchanting. But we will have a look at the English Tango during your time here.”

At the mention of the Ballroom dance that had taken it's victory lap through the clubs and dance schools of Europe in the gone years, the look of annoyance on the man's face deepened. His employer's smile stayed unshaken while she waved him over. From both ignored, Camila excused herself to change out of her drenched dress. But one pair of curious blue eyes followed her as she slipped through the door.

“May I present this years Debutantes? Mr. Nicolas Steeger, one of our dancing teachers, specialised in Argentinian Tango.”

“Charmed, I'm sure,” the man said, looking not charmed at all. 

“Nicolas has learned tango the only true way in the bars of Buenos Aires.” 

There was a certain glitter in the dancer's face that promised trouble but was continuously ignored by Madame Claudine. Someone giggled in the way of a young, well-bred girl who is confronted with a handsome man with sweat dripping down his neck and slicking his black hair.

“Steeger doesn't sound particularly Spanish to me,” a girl exclaimed in the back. Another one barely repressed a roll of her eyes. 

“There were many European immigrants during the Great War and before,” she explained calmly towards her friend. 

Nicolas Steeger looked at the girl, a genuine smile appearing on his face. Claudine seemed somewhat stunned at the turn of events.

“That is, of course, true, Miss...”

“Jane,” the teenager grinned. Under the stunned and somewhat jealous silence of five other girls, Nicolas Steeger, a man whose charms had broken more hearts than most of the girls in question could count, pulled the teenager's hand to his lips and gave her tiny wink. 

“You are a very smart young woman, Miss Jane. If I may give you some advice. Learn to dance. Men are scared of smart women, but they love women who can dance.”

Jane's raised an eyebrow and rescued her hand from the man.

“I'll make sure to keep that in mind.”

The sarcasm went unheard, while Mr. Steeger took his leave from the group of giggling juveniles and retreated for a wash and change, but Jane's eyes followed him through the door where Camilla had disappeared earlier. A hand touched her shoulder.

“Are you coming?” Melody asked. “Madame has released us for today.” 

Jane had trouble tearing herself away. Her stomach told her that something was going on. She wasn't for nothing the daughter of two detectives after all. Laughter interrupted her musing.

“Look at you, all sheep-eyed over the dancer. He's very handsome.” 

Jane slowly shook her head, trying to retrieve the thoughts she had just lost.

“Not to me,” she said, turning on her heel and causing her dress to twirl around her as she headed for the stairs. There was only more giggles answering her. But it was true. If Jane had learned one thing from her foster mother, then that a man who was scared of a woman with a brain was best to be avoided. 

Madame Claudine waited until the girls had left before she headed for the changing rooms. Raised voices sounded muffled through the closed door. She smiled quietly to herself before retreating to her office.

X

The light flickered above the three people huddled in the small kitchen. Jack Robinson stared at the door that was still annoyingly shut and pulled himself to his feet. He probably could have made up someplace he had to be, but instead he shared a look with his wife and started to pace towards the stove, almost bumping head first into Hugh Collins, who was pacing in the opposite direction. Phryne couldn't suppress a grin. A baby 's screaming made both men spin on their heels. But the door stayed closed. Mrs. Robinson stretched out a hand for her husband, who obediently sank down beside her, grasping for her fingers. While she wrapped his sweaty hand in hers, Phryne glanced at his features.  For what reason was he so nervous, she wondered. After all, it  was Hug h's wife currently giving birth and not herself. The thought actually caused her to swallow painfully, wiping the smile of her face. If this stirred up half forgotten feelings within Jack? 

Of course, they had long since talked about his inability to have children of his own. Jack had declared himself content with the family made up of her and Jane and the random other people populating their house, but the subtle tremble of his fingers caused her to question if pain rooted this deeply ever really faded away completely. She guessed not.

As if he could read her thoughts, Jack's grip tightened and he flashed her a smile. Phryne's annoyance evaporated  without a chance to build. Before she could think of something to say to release the pressure building in the room, the dreaded door finally opened and a  flushed Mac stepped through. 

“We made it,” she smiled. “Your son was in quite a hurry to come into the world in the end, Constable.” 

A sunrise slowly spread over Hugh's face, bringing Phryne's smile back. Jack stepped behind his Constable, lying a hand on his shoulder.

“Congratulations, Collins.”

But Hugh seemed oblivious to either of them.

“Can I see them?”

He could as it turned out and moments later he stood beside a exhausted but happy Dot, who was cradling a wrapped up bundle on her chest. The Robinsons stood in some awe in the background as Hugh approached his wife and looked at the beautiful baby they had made together.

“He's tiny,” he whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the little man. Dot smiled, a sweaty lock sticking to her forehead.

“He has your eyes, Hugh.”

The Constable leaned over the bed, trying to get a good look. The little boy stared at him,  obviously unimpressed and shoved a tiny thumb into his mouth. 

Gently, Mac took the bub from his mother's chest and laid it into the proud father's waiting arms. After a moment of stunned hesitation, Hugh grinned at the tiny bundle of human that would dictate his future. Phryne took the chance to sneak closer and whisper something into Dot's ear and press a kiss to her cheek. Dot thanked her by taking her hand without tearing her eyes  from  her enchanted husband. 

“Have you decided on a name?” he asked, sounding hoarse. 

“I believe he looks like a Thomas.” 

The tiny boy gurgled happily, as if to agree to his name, while his father just stared dumbstruck at his wife.

“You never said...” he trailed off. 

Dot reached out her free hand, while Mac took the baby from Hugh, before he would drop it in surprise.

“Of course I was thinking of your dad!” 

“I wish he had met you, Dottie.”

Hugh sounded by now suspiciously watery and Jack, still standing in the doorway, had to avert his eyes as Collins leaned down to finally press a gentle kiss to his wife's lips, in order hide the tears currently tightening his own throat. Instead, however, he met Phryne's eyes, who was smiling at him in a way that assured him she could see right through his strained composure.

“Would you mind taking him for a moment. I need to go talk to the midwife,” another female voice asked and a second later, Thomas Collins was thrust into the Inspector's completely unprepared arms before he had a chance to protest. He stared down into a pair of bright blue eyes in the middle of a red, wrinkly face, scrutinizing him curiously. Something shifted in the Inspector's heart. 

Mrs. Robinson watched the scene with mixed feelings. The softness in her husband's eyes was obvious - Jack had fallen in love. And while she still wasn't quite sure how she felt about the newest extension  to her family, there was something so breathtakingly beautiful about the moment shared between those two, that she found herself unable to even think the smallest sarcastic thought. Instead she photographed this tender little smile playing around Jack's lips for her memory, along with Dot's glowing cheeks and the absolute pride and pleasure displayed on Hugh's features as he watched his superior hold his son like a small, wonderful treasure. So, Phryne decided bravely, while approaching her husband, that maybe it was time for even the most glamorous of Lady Detectives to face her fears. With a look of tender joy, Jack laid the little boy into her arms, just in time for Thomas to decide that it was time  for  his first wee . 

X

“You can't be serious!” the man spat, a hand grabbing onto the woman's shoulder with a grip slightly too tight to be affectionate. “You're my wife!“

She glanced it him in the mirror, without stopping for a moment in her tracks.

“I know that,” Camila answered calmly and Nicolas withdrew without the scowl leaving his handsome features. While she continued to wipe make-up from her face, she hummed a tiny melody. It could have been the music they had danced to, but then it was too quiet to really hear. “It's just dancing, I don't intend to run away with him.”

She turned, watched her husband, who had sunk into a chair, fiddling with her hairbrush.

“It's tango!” he exclaimed. 

“True. And it doesn't mean anything, as you never tire to explain to me.” 

He didn't answer. After a long moment of annoyed silence, he slammed down the brush and left, throwing the door shut behind him with a loud bang. Camila flinched, but continued to attend to her make-up and a moment later, humming again filled the room.


	2. Rumba

The  sound of the turning key was drowned out by the popping cork and the laughter following. 

“A toast,” Hugh said, already drunk with excitement, while Jack filled the glasses with a grin glued to his face, “to the most beautiful baby boy in the world.” 

“And his loving parents,” Phryne added, smiling at Hugh's enthusiasm. Dot had opted to stay in bed and snuggle her tiny son rather than toast with them and she couldn't blame her. The pained screaming earlier must have been rather exhausting. Mrs. Robinson shuddered quietly. There was definitely more than one reason to avoid parenthood. 

“Congratulations, Collins,” Jack repeated in the hope that it was absorbed this time. “Now you merely have to survive the next 20 years.”

“I'm sure he will be the most wonderful father,” Phryne said with a firm look at Jack, who just grinned in return. 

If your son causes as little trouble as he did today, you will be just fine, Constable,” Mac said.

“Did Dot have her bub?!” 

Three people turned to find Jane standing in the door, excitement written across her pretty features. She really was growing up fast, Jack found with some melancholy. The thought drifted away as fast as it had come.

“She has, our Hugh here is the father of a lovely baby boy,” Phryne explained. Nobody could have braced themselves for the excited squeal sounding through the house, while Jane flung herself against Hugh in a hug much tighter than he had expected, causing him to spill half of his champagne on the floorboards. His giddy laughter filled the air. 

“I have to go see them!” 

Jane turned to storm off, but Jack gently grasped her arm, holding her back. 

“They're asleep I fear. If they were able to ignore you screaming down the house that is,” he smiled, pulling his daughter into a sideways hug. Nevertheless she looked disappointed. 

“You might have to wait until the morning, Jane,” Phryne prompted now as well. “Don't worry, little Thomas is not going anywhere,” she added amused at the frown on the girl's face. 

“At least not for a few months,” Mac joined in, stifling a yawn. „But I'd better get going home, it's been a long day. In fact I came here in the hope of some relaxation.”

The slight accusation was decidedly ignored by the huddle of people, as Jane started whispering with Hugh.

“Is your lover not providing said relaxation?” Phryne grinned, refilling her glass, then Jack's, who tore himself briefly from the conversation to shoot her a menacing glance. 

„Hazel is in Daylesford with her sister. Apparently they go up there to take the springs and enjoy the company of their uncle and aunt once a year.”

“A family tradition,” Jack threw in dryly. “One of the numerous ones, I fear.” 

Phryne rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. Jack's family was huge in comparison to her own and seemed to be united not only in chaos but also in love. After a complicated start they had quickly grown on her. Had Janey still been around she could imagine enjoying to take a few days out of their busy lives once a year to soak in magical water and listen to Walter Cox-Stafford's dirty jokes over his wife's lovingly prepared, if barely edible, food.

Another yawn drew her attention back to Mac, who was making her exit. Phryne opened the door for her.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at her tired friend. 

„I was barely needed,” Mac protested, shoving her hat back onto her head. 

“But always wanted,” Phryne prompted, before bidding Elizabeth goodnight and gently pushing the door shut. 

She found Hugh looking rather embarrassed with Jane holding onto his hand.

“If it's all right with you, Sir...” He trailed off, looked at Jane, then straightened his shoulder, “Your daughter wants to meet little Thomas. I will try and see if Dot can be talked into letting him go for a moment.” 

“Very well, Collins.”

Jack watched on grinning, as Jane dragged Hugh out of the room and down the hall.

“She already got a firm grip on the opposite sex, it seems,” a voice said beside him. The Inspector's answer was a cheeky grin, as he turned to look at his wife. She was beautiful in the light of the flames, all flushed with excitement and content. 

“She takes right after her mother then,” he stated while he emptied his glass without tearing his eyes from her. Phryne's stomach did a small flip, reminding her what Dot's labour had interrupted. 

“Would you say I have a firm grip on you, Jack?” she asked, taking a step closer. 

His answer drowned in a gasp while his eyes fell shut.

“I feels like a rather firm grasp, Miss Fisher,” he croaked hoarsely, gently removing her hand from his pants, where his reaction to her touch was undeniable. “But I believe we should take this upstairs.”

When his  lashes fluttered open, he found her giving him her cockiest smile. Without a word she took his glass from him and set both down, before pulling him into a breathtaking kiss. Her warm breasts pushed against his chest made it hard to resist the longing  to just tear away the separating clothes. 

“I think this is a very, very good idea, Inspector,” Phryne whispered beside his ear, causing the hair in his neck to stand up in anticipation. A second later he found himself being dragged out of the room, much like a Hugh a minute earlier, but instead of down the hall, Phryne pulled him up the stairs with little ceremony. The Inspector couldn't say he minded. He rather admired the view. 

Despite her bedroom being the closest to the stairs, however, they walked right past the door and followed the hall down to his own sanctuary. Jack wondered briefly if that was due to the fact that his room was much further from Jane's door or if she had certain activities in mind that demanded the iron bed frame that her's didn't provide. His knees weakened at the thoughts of just what her intentions might be and he was glad when the door finally fell shut behind them.

Before he had time to react , her lips had launched onto his, kissing him hungrily, while he felt his coat and vest being torn off his shoulders. Jack's head was already swimming when she took a  sudden step backwards, followed by the dark, confused eyes of her husband, wo stayed leaning against the door, sensing a sudden change of plans. 

In the following breathless silence Phryne's fingers slipped over the buttons of her blouse in torturous slowness. Her husband wet his dry lips, not daring to move. When Phryne pushed the thin fabric from her white shoulders, he gave into his longing to embrace her, but she refused his attempt with a tiny smile on her lips. Obediently Jack retreated, watched on as her pants followed her blouse onto the floor, revealing her stockings and lingerie. 

With a cheeky grin, she retrieved the small knife that had saved their lives not too long ago, from it's sheath. Instead of laying it on the bedside table, however, as she usually did, she returned her attention to Jack, grabbing for the fabric of his tie. The Inspector stood frozen, unable to breath, when the cold, sharp metal brushed over his throat. A second later, what was left of his tie fell to the floor. The Inspector wanted to protest that she couldn't just ruin his clothes, but there was a evil sparkle in her eyes that caused him to swallow dryly and just let her have her way. It wasn't his favourite after all. In fact, it was rather hideous, he reminded himself, fighting back a hint of annoyance. The shirt however he _did_ like. 

But that didn't prompt him to stop her either, as the knife, slowly, deliberately severed the first button.  More  dropped silently to the floor. Jack watched his wife confused, yet incredibly aroused, as she literally cut the clothes  from his body. When the tips of her fingers touched his exposed chest to push the ruined shirt from him, he  was trembling , his heart pounding against his ribs. He felt about ready to explode. 

But the contented smirk on her red lips sparked a different thought. He reached out for her, but instead of pulling her close as she had expected, he wrestled the knife from her unresisting fingers. Phryne's eyes widened in shock when he, with some precision, cut through one of the thin straps of her camisole. The motion exposed half of her right breast and she couldn't help the brief urge to cover herself up as she felt the sudden vulnerability. But instead, she straightened her back and watched on  as he, like an artist admiring his  model , stepped behind her. His scent invaded her nose, his warm breath in her neck caused her to shiver, yet he didn't touch her. The anticipation was near unbearable. Then the second strap snapped. 

Silently the fabric slipped away, giving her chest free to Jack's hungry hands. Phryne stayed stubbornly quiet as his fingers ran over her curves, yet the  quickening of her breath and the stiff nipples pressing into his palms gave her away all the same. He had stolen her game and Phryne didn't take kindly to unfair behaviour in the bedroom. The lips currently kissing her neck and the warm, naked chest that she had peeled out of his many protective layers to be now pressed against her back, were too lovely to be ignored either though and she decided that there was time for pouting later on. A strong hand cupped her face to pull her into a longing kiss and while she melted into his passionate lips, a warm arm that had been wrapped around her stomach was now moving lower with some determination. When his hand slipped between her legs, she forgot to be angry. In fact she forgot many things. Seconds later, they were on the bed, Jack's pants tangled somewhere around his knees, his free hand shuffling her lingerie out of the way with the desperation of a man who feared to burst at any second and by the feel he was close to doing just that. Their rhythm was frantic, sweat slicking their skin as he gasped into her back, his  free arm wrapped over her breasts. She turned her head, finding his lips once against, as she felt him approaching the edge. Just then, all hell broke lose. 

X

The thick red drop fell, painting a scarlet river over pale skin. The white hands didn't stop working feverishly.  Candlelight shimmered in the surface of the glass , illuminating the luscious  dark liquid. Not long now ! White hands grabbed for a porcelain jug. The clear, crisp water arrived in the bowl in a shade of blood red. A heart beat painfully against a ribcage. Everything was ready. Now only the morning needed to come. 


	3. Carinosa

With a tiny grin that could have been just a friendly, dutiful smile, Mr. Butler watched the tired couple at the dining table.

“More egg, ma'am?”

Phryne yawned.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler.” 

She avoided to look at Jack, whose cheek  displayed a small cut caused by a razor. Even under extreme pressure at work, she had never seen him slip during shaving before. Obviously the combination of a screaming infant and the tension left by a never finished sexual act wasn't particularly soothing for his nerves. Or maybe it more due to not having been able to close an eye all night. Around two in the morning they had retreated into her bedroom in the hope that a few more walls would enable them to get a wink of sleep. But no such luck. Thomas Collins was obviously blessed with an amazing set of lungs. 

Jack stirred in his coffee. He would have preferred to blame his shakiness and bad mood on his lack of sleep, but then he was too honest a man for that.  Yet, h e wasn't a teenager anymore. A single thwarted climax should not effect  him like this . What annoyed him even more was that he wasn't sure how Phryne had taken the interruption. She had appeared somewhat confused about his inability to continue while a baby seemed to be screaming directly into his ear - a turn-off possibly beating even ex-wives storming the bedroom. While Phryne had been reluctant to understand, his body had gotten the point and made it impossible to finish.  The embarrassment about this was only outweighed by his frustration. In fact in this very moment Phryne's ankle brushed against his leg under the table and it took all his concentration to not throw her over the dining table and take her right in front of Mr. Butler's very eyes. 

“Good morning!” 

Jane all but skipped through the door with glowing cheeks that belied the lack of sleep she must be suffering from and diminished any impure thoughts in Jack's brain for the time being. She sat down and accepted  her  tea from Mr. Butler, happily babbling on about how cute Dottie's baby was. 

“He is also blessed with a lot of stamina,” Phryne cut in after listening for a moment. 

To her surprise, Jane laughed.

“And very good lungs,” she agreed, while happily spreading butter on her toast and making room for Mr. Butler to serve her fried eggs and steak. Jack quietly sipped his coffee, wondering what to do with this Sunday. There were no pressing cases to be solved, but currently he felt too much tension in his bones to retreat for a quiet morning with the newspaper. Maybe a walk could solve some of his anxiety or... He glanced at Phryne, who gave him a telling smile. So she harboured the same thought. He allowed himself a shaky grin and the hope that they would be able to find some alone time in the next hours, so long as the little son of the Collins had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Phryne's ankle returned, this time not brushing against his subtly, but rubbing along his pyjama clad leg with determination, causing Jack to almost suffocate on his coffee. 

“You all right?” a voice asked beside the coughing Inspector, while a hand slapped his back with some enthusiasm, Jane really was in too good a mood for having not gotten a wink of sleep. 

“Fine.” 

He tried a thin smile, throwing his wife a glance that promised payback. She just smirked in response, returning her attention to her own coffee without retrieving her foot.

“I am very tired though.” 

Jane had given up on trying to beat him up and sat back down, digging into her food like a starving woman. She still exuded happiness and Phryne slowly turned suspicious.

“Have you had trouble sleeping last night?” she asked. Jane cheerfully shook her head. 

“I slept like a stone. The dancing lessons are incredible fun, but so tiring.” 

Her parents shared a look over the table.

“But you did hear little Thomas cry?” Jack tried after a moment of silence. 

“Had to be deaf not to,” Phryne mumbled under her breath while she drained her cup. 

Jane just shrugged, her mouth full of steak, finishing to chew before she answered.

“In the orphanage it was loud all the time. You get used to it.” 

Phryne's foot retreated as she felt the mood change. They sometimes forgot where Jane had come from. Actually, it was hard to believe that this happy, lovely teenager had grown up in such chaos. Jack's eyes were glued to the girl, wondering how to approach such a subject. But Jane just kept eating.

“You are still coming to the dancing lessons with me today, aren't you?” she suddenly exclaimed, throwing both her parents off balance. “You promised! And there is the picnic afterwards!” 

Again Jack and Phryne shared a look. As much as they enjoyed the change of subject, this wasn't really any better. They hadn't so much forgotten about it as repressed the memory. Both were not particularly thrilled at Jane's decision to officially 'come out' in this years debutante ball, if for very different reasons. While Phryne was repelled by the concept of  parents pushing their  daughters onto the marriage market  in the hope of  them  making a good catch , Jack didn't like the idea of Jane being eyed off by entitled young man or stiff upper class ladies. Personally convinced that his foster daughter would have to be the smartest and most wonderful girl in any ballroom, the thought that anyone could find her wanting, turned his stomach.  But she had  set her mind on learning to dance and join ing her friends and schoolmates for the biggest social event of her young years and neither of her foster parents had had the heart to say  'no'. Especially after her flower maiden experience had been tainted by the death of her friend two years ago. 

“Of course, we will, won't we, Jack?” Phryne finally answered. 

“I would love to, but I really should drop by the station...” he lied, trailing off, when both women stared at him with the same look of annoyance.

“I'm sure it will remain standing without you. I'll see you upstairs to get ready,” Phryne prompted, rising. 

“Don't worry, you won't have to dance,” Jane laughed while she finally finished her breakfast. Jack sat for a moment gobsmacked. When had he lost his ability to make decisions of his own? 

While he finished his toast, he pondered. It wasn't so much the dancing that worried him, more the company of said entitled young men and high class ladies that he didn't look forward to. Sighing, he resolved to follow Phryne upstairs to get changed, feeling awkward in his pyjamas and dressing gown. Taking breakfast in anything less than a three-piece suit still took some getting used to, even after a year under Miss Fisher's roof. His roof as well now, as he had to remind himself. But when he had finally crawled out of bed this morning around eight, his limbs feeling like lead filled with liquid iron, he had not found it in himself to get dressed properly. Neither had Phryne, which  was  a fact he came to appreciate once he stepped through her bedroom door. She was currently  digging through a drawer in only underwear and a garter belt. 

“I must have misplaced my second stocking,” she said when he entered, without looking up. 

Jack suppressed a comment on how she seemed to have a hundred of them that he couldn't quite tell the difference between and instead sat down on the bed, enjoying the view and regretting the things he had no time to do to her right now.   
“Why does Jane belief me to be scared of dancing?” he asked after a moment of watching his wife's butt  wiggle through the room. 

“Maybe because you _are_, Jack?” she teased, disappearing in the neighbouring dressing room. 

“I seem to remember dancing with you on numerous occasions,” he called. “Last a lovely wedding waltz, amongst others.” 

Her answer was a muffled laugh from somewhere between her dresses, before she re-emerged.

“And I love dancing with you, Jack, but you _could_ brush up on your technique. We are visiting a dancing school after all.” 

“To watch!” he said a little more sharply than he had intended. 

She leaned over him, still only half-dressed and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“See? You _are_ scared of dancing!” 

Content that she had made her point, she grinned and tried to escape with a dress in hand that she probably intended to wear, but the Inspector was faster. He grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her.

“Do you think you can live with a husband who lacks in some respects?” he asked hoarsely, when he realised the slight flaw in his plan. 

“I don't think you lack in anything much, Jack!” she whispered beside his ear, shifting to rub against the hardness he couldn't conceal in this position. The Inspector barely suppressed a groan, before catching her head into a passionate kiss. 

“Maybe if we are quick-” he whispered breathlessly, but was interrupted by a knock to the door.

“Are you ready yet? We are running late!” 

Jack thanked God that Jane had stopped her habit of just bursting into their rooms, ever since an embarrassing but harmless incident involving him, a bath towel and very little clothing in between.

“Almost there,” Phryne called out, climbing off her husband with a look that told him she hadn't missed the double-meaning of her words. He swallowed down a curse and stiffly marched to the chair where Mr. Butler had laid out his suit. The ruined pieces from last night had disappeared and the Inspector wondered briefly just what the butler would make of them. Decidedly keeping his back to where Phryne was slipping into a red dress and finally fastening her rediscovered stocking, he got changed, trying his hardest to hold onto unerotic thoughts. 

X

“Where is your head today, Vicky? That was the third time!?” 

Victoria Adams gulped, as she turned on the piano stool. Her employer was a rather nice woman most of the time. Unless she was annoyed or someone messed with her music – then she could become unpleasant in a hurry.

“I'm sorry, Madam, I've-” 

“Oh never mind, just start from the top, we need to get it right before the girls arrive.” 

“Give her a break, Claudine.” 

The warm, deep voice came from a tall figure leaning in the door frame. Madame Claudine spun on her dangerously high heels, but her menacing scowl didn't have the slightest effect on the gentleman with the dark hair and the knowing smile glued to his face.

“Good morning, Julian,” she finally said stiffly. 

The grin broadened as he extended his hand without returning her greeting.

“If you insist on warming up, you should be doing it properly,” he pointed out. After a moment of hesitation, the woman took the offered hand and let him lead her back onto the dance floor. 

“From the top, Vicky,” she said, without turning around, but her tone had softened, as she slipped her hand onto her partner's back. A pair of blue eyes glanced over her shoulder and winked at the girl, before a blushing Victoria hurriedly returned to playing her piece. 

X

Jack had a hard time finding a comfortable position in the leather seat, as the  red  Hispano -Suiza shot through the streets of Melbourne. While Phryne had returned to her usual driving style of a controlled suicide mission, his current discomfort wasn't only due to her inability in sticking to any speed limits. Much more contributing to it was that even the current conversation about Aunt P hadn't managed to sufficiently distract him from his still unresolved passion, manifesting itself in a rather obvious bulge in his trousers. So far he had been able to hide it under the hat held on his lap. But he wasn't quite certain how long he could keep up this charade, especially since he suspected Phryne to have noticed and she was bound to use it against him. 

“So, this Madame...?” he asked, hoping to change the subject away from a dreaded family dinner with Mrs. Stanley in the coming week. 

“Claudine Germain, supposedly she was quite the dancer in her youth,” Phryne stated happily, barely avoiding a horse by taking a sharp right-turn that left Jack unable to answer her. 

“Mel heard that Madame has been on stage with the Pavlova once,” Jane threw in from the back seat in a calmness that never ceased to surprise her father. “Mind you, Mel hears many things that I don't take too seriously.” 

“So she walked on stage with a dessert?” he asked dryly, hearing two women roll their eyes at him. 

“The prima ballerina!” Jane said for good measure, well aware that her father was merely teasing her. “Supposedly she danced the little swan.” 

“Well, I assume the imitation of poultry is some career aspiration,” Jack grumbled, squirming in his seat. 

„Swans aren't even poultry,” Jane protested from the back, unable to stifle a giggle. 

“Edmund Dixon begs to differ,” Jack argued, only half serious. “But I am glad that Tchaikovsky didn't feel compelled to write about ducks. That'd have put some dent in Madame Claudine's dancing career.” 

The resounding laughter on the back seat caused Jack to turn back his attention to the street, before his pride became too obvious. Phryne smiled mischievously without taking her eyes off the road.

“'Swan lake' is a lovely piece, Inspector, and you of all people should be aware that not anyone is meant to be a prima ballerina,” 

Jack raised his eyebrows, ready to argue, but a sideways glance confirmed his suspicion that Phryne  was now teasing him just for the fun of it, regardless of his dancing abilities. 

“I don't believe a tutu would suit me, Miss Fisher,” he stated dryly. 

For a moment it was quiet  as Phryne turned the murderous vehicle into yet another streets and Jane shared a grin with Jack. 

“While I am not prepared to test this theory, Jack, Madame Germain _is_ said to be a very good dancing teacher, no matter her questionable past as a swan.” 

“Is that built on as firm a ground as the rumours spread by a teenager?” 

“Actually I've sent Jane to her on the recommendation of Lady Brenner. Her husband had to learn the wedding waltz some five years ago and that might have been the most challenging assignment for Madame Claudine yet. According to Pauline he resembled a feather on the dance floor on their big day.” 

Another corner  caused Jack's stomach  to leap,  but as he clutched onto his seat he noticed with some relief that  his body  was  finally giving up on reminding him of his  burning hunger in favour of trying to survive.

Inspector Robinson hardly ever forgot someone he had met and so he did remember the heavy frame of Lord Brenner, who despite his title and thoroughly good breeding looked about as graceful as an orangutan. If Claudine Germain had succeeded in teaching him any form of rhythmical movement, she certainly was worth her money. And despite his limited interest in their finances, Jack was well aware that there was quite an excessive sum of it required to shape Jane into a 'young lady'. The Hispano's sudden halting shook him out of his thoughts. 

“We're here!” Jane explained happily. 

While helping Phryne out of the car, the Inspector let his scrutinising eyes sweep up the red stone facade that was currently approached by a whole group of chattering girl, boys and well dressed people who probably shared a similar fate.

“Are you coming?” his daughter asked. 

“Of course,” Jack mumbled, before he tore himself away from his thoughts. When he looked up, Phryne was smiling a knowing smile at him. Sighing, he offered his arms. 

„Shall we then?” 

Both women accepted grinning. While the threesome climbed the stairs to the entrance, Jack wondered how he had ever gotten himself into this mess. But he had to grumpily admit that the two hands lying warm and heavy in his elbows made it more than worth it.


	4. Mambo

Dot  Collins yawned, turning around. Then her eyes snapped open in shock,  as the time  displayed  on her alarm clock sank in. Her hand made an involuntary, protect ive move to her belly just to realise that what she was protecting wasn't there any longer. Memories came flooding back. She sat up,  hurried over to the crib  but found  the little bed decidedly empty. She spun on the spot, suddenly feeling lost, then grasped for her morning gown, tying it up as she stormed down the stairs  while almost stumbling over her fluffy slippers. Her heart beating in her ears, she rushed into the  parlour where a picture of utter harmony let her stop in her tracks. Hugh, already donning his black uniform, was sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace, little Thomas lying on his stomach obviously asleep. 

“Good morning, Dottie,” the Constable smiled when he realised the dishevelled silhouette standing in the door frame, shuffling to get up, but she gestured for him to keep sitting while she snuck closer. 

“He's such an angel,” she whispered. 

“He wasn't last night,” Hugh yawned, shifting in the chair. “I'm so sorry Dottie. I shouldn't have taken him out of his crib for Jane to hold.” 

Dot tore her eyes from the little miracle on her husbands chest for long enough to  brush a kiss to his cheek. 

“I don't think it was your fault, Hugh. But I am so relieved that he is finally asleep.“

Her eyes fell onto the clock situated on the mantle piece.

“Also, I do think you are running late for your shift,” she pointed out a moment later. 

“I am too,” Hugh admitted. “Would you mind...?” 

Gently, he handed their little son over to his wife and straightened out his clothes. Dot kissed him goodbye, before  looking at the little boy who  was breathing peacefully, sucking on his thumb . 

“Do you think you will be asleep long enough for me to have some breakfast?” she asked Thomas, who didn't give her any answer. “Because I am positively starving.” 

“I would rather hope so,” a voice behind her said, causing her to spin in confusion. „He was awake all night long after all. As was everybody else.” 

Tobias Butler smiled.

X

A woman  with an insane amount of feathers on her hat, was busy  whisper ing something that sounded an awful lot like an insult about one of the girls. Jack swallowed down his annoyance. This whole circus seemed ridiculous to him and the traces of unflattering comments about weight, dresses and danc ing abilities was worse than he could have imagined. He rather hoped that none of the collected women dared to open her mouth to say a word about Jane, who seemed oblivious to the unkind eyes watching her. He had to admit that she was possibly not the most graceful of the collected girls, but her enthusiasm caused her to sparkle all the same.  She also exuded a quiet happiness that rendered him quite incapable of taking his eyes of her. There was something enchanting about the way the girls and their partners turned to the music, currently a Viennese waltz, Jack had to admit grumpily. So he was almost sorry when the music trailed off and Madame Claudine stepped out. 

While her height made her rumoured career as a ballet dancer quite unlikely, the owner of the dancing school was indeed an impressive appearance. Even with a gun pressed to his temple, the Inspector would not have dared to take a guess at her age. It was in fact hard to say if her hair, pulled up in a strict bun, was white or just an insanely light shade of blonde, but in combination with her pale complexion it gave her an almost ethereal appearance, as if her creator hadn't decided if she was to be of this world. Jack felt in equal amounts intrigued and unsettled by the woman who currently, with a wave of her hand, gave orders to a pretty, if rather unremarkable looking girl at the piano. Jack tore his attention from her to realise that Jane, panting and beaming, had directed her eyes at him, obviously looking for a sign if she was doing well. His pride must have been obvious, as a moment later she returned to her partner's arms with satisfaction displayed on her features and the young couples started to move again, this time in a different pattern that the Inspector suspected to be a foxtrot. For the first time he had a closer look at the young man who was twirling his daughter over the dance floor. He was a rather handsome kid, maybe a year or two older than Jane, well dressed - possibly a little too well. And was his hand wrapped tighter around her back than necessary?

Jack turned to Phryne with the intention to share his observation  and realised  that her chair was  decidedly empty. The part of his brain that always paid attention, even when he was busy staring enthralled at Jane dancing, informed him that she had been gone for some time. Jack threw a last look at the young man, making sure he didn't dance inappropriately close to his teenage girl, before he decided that it was safe enough to go and find Phryne.  The Inspector was certain that even Miss Fisher couldn't take quite this long to powder her nose. Which  left only the conclusion that she had found something to sidetrack her and in Phryne's case that something usually turned out to be  either  illegal or dangerous,  while m ostly being both. 

As he marched down a long corridor  lined with a wild arrey of more or less beautiful pictures that  didn't seem to follow any particular style, drawing the fresh  spring air into his lungs  that swept through the opened windows , another melody mixed  into the foxtrot in the Inspector's ears.  This one was darker, stronger  and more rhythmical. Curious, Jack approached the d oor the gramophone music seemed to dribble trough and opened it for the slightest of gaps. He wasn't certain if to be surprised by what presented itself to his eyes. A man, tall, dark and incredibly handsome was currently making a complicated sidestep that caused his dancing partner to twirl gently on her heels, before slowly, sensually slipping her leg through his. Jack swallowed dryly, resisting the urge to slam the door shut. 

He felt like a voyeur, but then he could hardly be blamed for the scene holding his attention. There were other people in the room, he noticed when he slipped in uninvited. A woman that no artist could have created any more opposite to Madame Germaine if  he'd tried a nd another young man who was watching the scene  with intense interest  out of gleaming eyes .

The dancers turned, Phryne again perfectly following the man's lead and as she twirled around him, her eyes found Jack's over her partner's shoulder. Maybe he imagined the smirk, but the glitter in her irises he certainly didn't. She was feeling mischievous and Jack knew that he was making a fool of himself. It was just a dance!

A sensual, complicated, wonderful dance, he realised a moment later, as he watched her tango with the stranger as if she had never done anything else in her life. She was a natural. In fact Jack had seen her sway quite often, but never with such passion and elegance that it took his breath away.

The Inspector felt like a stranger, an intruder as the rhythm of the tango washed over him. The man's hands trailed over the curve of Phryne's back, the skin of her arm and Jack couldn't shake the thought that they belonged there – it was intense and intimate and perfect. A work of art.

Finally, the music ended and with the last notes Phryne wrapped around the dancer as if he was her long lost lover, before retreating from him, destroying the magic she had just created with a single laugh.

“Thank you, that was most wonderful, Mr. Steeger. My tango has been subject to some neglect over the last years.” 

“That may be changed, Seniora. And one never unlearns tango. It is in the blood,” her partner smiled, pulling her hand to his lips. “It is certainly in yours.” 

Phryne allowed him his gesture with incredible grace, before she turned the attention of Mr. Steeger towards her husband, who was leaning against a wall, following the scene with an expression that she assumed was meant to be motionless.

“Meet my husband, Inspector Jack Robinson,” she introduced him, still smiling broadly and the men exchanged the pleasantries, while the rest of the group joined them. Nicolas seemed terribly little embarrassed by having been wrapped around somebody else's wife a moment ago, Jack noticed, feeling silly. The man was in fact perfectly pleasant, making charming small talk, flattering Phryne and finally excusing himself to begin one of his classes, but not before introducing his own wife. The dark haired beauty, whose dress wasn't able to completely conceal her plump curves, listened to the name of Camila Steeger and showed the Inspector a row of perfect teeth surrounded by red lips before taking his hand. Jack couldn't help but smile at her undisguised charms. 

“If you would excuse me and Mr. Riley, we do have work to do,” she begged, after they had exchanged their greetings and the Inspector was almost relieved to escape. 

When the d oor to the small dancing salon  closed behind them , Phryne tilted her head and looked at her husband. 

“I do hope you enjoyed it,” she said, her grin cheekier than should be allowed. Jack decided that he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of displaying his unreasonable jealousy for a tango partner or how much it gnawed on him that she had never told him what an accomplished dancer she was. Instead he settled for a tiny grin of his own. 

“It was certainly interesting music, Miss Fisher.” 

“This particular piece turns around a man who wants to die of jealousy,” Phryne quipped, without missing a beat and extended a hand to smooth a furrow out of Jack's brow. Her palm lingered for a moment on his cheek, while his dark eyes searched hers for answers. She let him. He needed to know. Finally there was the hint of a nod that relieved Phryne beyond measure. 

“I never quite understood the logic of dying for love,” the Inspector said, kissing her palm. “It leaves the path wide open for one's opponent.” 

Phryne laughed, taking his arm.

“That is a tiny detail that the poets of the world seem to have missed, Inspector.” 

“What shall I say? Shakespeare may have been mistaken,” Jack quipped, as he lead his wife down the corridor, back to where Jane was still dancing. 

X

Mr. Butler was currently ironing a pile of freshly washed nappies that awaited their first use, whistling to himself, when someone knocked against the kitchen window. His smile broadened when he realised who his visitor was and a moment later she was in the room like a warm summer breeze.

“The bub is hardly born and I see you're workload has doubled already,” Riya smiled with absolutely no sincerity, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before she took off her hat, causing a wave of black hair to cascade down her shoulders. Tobias interrupted his work for a moment to return her greeting, but made no attempt to take her hat from her, having long since learned that his lover held no regards for any of the etiquette his line of work bound him to. The deceiving smile on his lips told her the whole story, when he said: “Little Thomas has caused quite a rough night for both the Collins and Robinsons. I would dare say nobody but Jane did close an eye at all.” 

“You seem not very upset about your lack of sleep,” Riya quipped, sinking onto a chair, watching his beloved fingers dancing, smoothing, straightening. 

“How can one be upset when a child is born?” Tobias asked, completely enthralled in his work. 

Riya watched him for some time in companionable silence, a smile on her lips. The tender fatherly love he felt for Dorothy Williams required no comment from her at all. It seemed only logical that his proud grin was the one of an excited grandfather rather than that of a fellow servant. The little boy whose arrival he had announced to her first thing this morning, while being barely able to conceal his exhilaration, was as much part of his family as Jane or Phryne. Considering this, it was easily forgivable that the phone had rung a long time before the nocturnal Riya had originally intended to crawl out of bed. The artist stifled a yawn, glancing at the pile of clothes still awaiting to be smoothed by the hot iron. Then she took another look as something strange occurred to her.

“I do hope you saved the buttons of this lovely shirt,” she finally stated levelly. 

“Every single one,” Tobias answered, equally nonchalant. He did not feel any need to share that it had cost him several minutes to sweep all of the missing buttons together, as two had rolled underneath the bed and a third had been hiding under the door. 

“An act of barbarity,” she said, letting her fingertips glide over the soft cotton. 

“I rather hope it was,” Tobias answered. The lovers shared a knowing grin, before Mr. Butler cleared his throat and slipped the shirt out of Mrs. Santi's grasp to spray it with starch. He would sew the buttons back on later, while he'd watch little Thomas, so Dorothy could go about her own housework, since she stubbornly refused him to take it from her hands. The tie, however, that he had found on his Mistress's bedroom floor, was beyond repair and he wasn't certain if to approach the Inspector about it's fate or just let it disappear in silence. Surely he must be aware that it couldn't be salvaged. Unless of course he had been... Tobias decided to end the thought at this point in time. While nothing human was unfamiliar to him, there were paths that his mind didn't need to travel. Instead he glanced at his lover who was still watching him in silence, completely unwilling to tear herself away. 

“While I don't intend to appear rude, may I ask what brings you here? I distinctively recall you having a lunch date with Mrs. Blair and her daughter.” 

Riya seemed to wake from pleasant daydreams to sigh.

“Your memory is as usual, correct. I fear she will ask me again to paint Miss Amelie. And I will once more have to refuse.” 

“It might be in everybody's interest if you consider to give her what she desires,” Tobias pointed out, flipping the shirt he was flattening. “Alone to save yourself from more unpleasant luncheons.” 

“I'm afraid, I can't. Catching the essence of a human being is much harder than people apprehend. And I don't believe I am able to in this instance.” 

“I beg to differ,” Tobias argued, thinking of a picture of Inspector Robinson, which a proud Miss Fisher had hung into her parlour some time ago. It still was on display despite the policeman's ongoing protest. 

“It is all about inspiration, Tobias. A motive has to touch me, rouse my desire to hold on to the moment and keep it alive for eternity. Miss Amelie, however, rouses nothing in me at all. Possibly aside from annoyance.” 

Tobias nodded, wondering for a brief moment if he should ask just what about Jack Robinson had captured her imagination that day, but decided against it. It was obvious.

Instead he smiled.

“So, you just dropped by on your way to the inevitable to watch me starch shirts?” 

“Something along those lines,” she sighed, pulling herself to her feet and fishing her hat from the table. “I also was hoping to meet Phryne and ask her and the Inspector to join me for dinner tonight.” 

“I'm afraid they aren't in,” Tobias said, enthralled in a particularly annoying crease. 

“I gathered as much. The Hispano was missing when I arrived. But maybe you could pass on the invitation?” 

“Certainly, Ma'am,” Mr. Butler grinned. His position and Riya's friendship with his Mistress made their connection somewhat awkward, yet he wouldn't have given it up for the world. 

“I would invite you, Tobias. But since I know you will refuse to be my dinner guest at a table with your employers, I will save my breath,” she smiled, pulling him into a kiss that got her dangerously close to being burned with a hot iron. “But now I do have to run or the Blairs will find me rude on top of conceited.” 

“We certainly wouldn't want that,” the Butler grinned, unwilling to let go of her. She smiled, understanding his implication and slipped out of his grasp, before disappearing through the open door into the spring morning with a brief goodbye. Mr. Butler began to whistle again as the smell of starch filled the kitchen. The peace lasted a whole of two minutes, before little Thomas woke from his slumber. 


	5. Slowfox

Tired, but happy, Camila pulled the dress from her shoulders. The black drapes slipped almost soundlessly to the floor, while their owner filled her washing bowl with warm water. Everything was going perfectly to plan, if not better. Julian really was the most wonderful dancer.

Another pair of grey eyes appeared briefly in her mind. The curiosity in them had been striking. What a passionate dancer he could be if he allowed himself, she wondered? Camila glanced at the jar sitting on her dressing table. Half lost in daydreams the dancer washed herself, as she heard the door click shut behind her. The man entering didn't say a word as he leaned against the door, but she knew his breathing well enough.

“That was a rather silly display,” she said, without turning around. 

“I actually thought her dance was enchanting,” he stated with fake calmness. 

“No doubt,” his wife answered. “I was talking about yours.” 

She finally turned, despite her wearing no more than her undergarments looking so threatening that he gulped.

“I was merely being a gentleman,” he finally said, salvaging his nonchalance. Camila looked at Nicolas for a long moment, then nodded. 

“She certainly appreciated it. But if you think you can rouse my jealousy, you are wrong.” 

Mr. Steeger watched as his wife returned her attention to the by now lukewarm water. Then he stepped behind her, gently grabbing her shoulders and kissing her neck. A half-moan was the only answer he received, while she tilted her head to grant him better access.

“You are the worst of husbands,” she finally ground out, while his arms slipped around her pressing her closer. 

“You didn't marry me for my domestic qualities,” he whispered into her ear, his hand slipping underneath the last layer of fabric covering her. She spun, now skin to skin with his chest and ran her sharp nails over his back. 

“Certainly not,” she whispered, listening to him groan under her touch. Her dark eyes glittered dangerously as she leaned up to meet his lips, their hot bodies pressed together. “But if you do that again, I will have to kill you.” Her words were accompanied by a bite into his lip that caused his eyes to roll back in his head. A string of moans filled the small changing room and a pale hand pulled the door handle shut a moment later. The intruder had seen and heard enough. 

X

“The gardens are beautiful in springtime, aren't they?” the Lady walking beside him asked with kind patience. Jack agreed politely, battling down his endless boredom. She wasn't wrong, the Royal Botanical Garden was breathtaking at this time of year, as he knew since his childhood when his parents had taken him and his siblings here for picnics every other Sunday. He remembered chasing Will through the Fern Gully, slipping on a wet rock and ending up in the mud, much to the displeasure of both his parents. The scolding he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt he would receive from his father that day had drowned out however in the total freedom as he had flown through the shrubbery, his brother's laughter in his ears. It suddenly occurred to Jack how many years he had missed this feeling of wind in his hair and dirt drying to his pants. Somewhere between three piece suits, paperwork and being married to Rosie, he had lost it. It wasn't her fault though. He had forgotten that he needed this, had even been convinced after the War that mud was certainly something he would never need to feel again in his life. 

He glanced at Phryne, who was chatting animatedly with Mrs. MacAster. “Mel's” mother was a rather round, flushed woman, who was as nice as she was silly. His own conversation partner carried on talking about the wonderous history of the park, while Jack made an occasional polite comment that convinced her that he was completely enthralled by her insight.

But truthfully the Inspector was wondering when he had changed. Had it been the first time he'd met Phryne? Or later, when her infectious hunger for adventure had broken down his common sense along with the walls he had built around his heart? Had it started when she had saved him from certain death? When she had drawn the worst of memories from him and wiped them away as if they were nothing but a dark nightmare? Jack couldn't tell, but he remembered the moments vividly: The chase through Melbourne on a stolen Motorbike, the reciting Shakespeare in an empty theatre to the audience of one, the picking tomatoes in the middle of a thunderstorm, moulding sandwiches into his skin in the throes of passion, watching a dancer at a gentleman's club and not looking away in the slightest... It didn't matter when it had happened, the root of his change was obvious. Phryne had brought him back from a life of sleepwalking.

His heart beat suddenly painfully in his chest when he realised that he wasn't quite certain what he had done for her in return. What was more, it was the very reason why he couldn't stop thinking about her dancing tango with the stranger whose name he was unable to forget, even though God knew, he was trying.

He had no time to travel further down this path of thought, as someone took his arm. He looked up, realising that Jane had tired of her friends and decided to pay her foster father a visit.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she whispered. 

“Terribly,” he whispered back. Jane grinned. 

“Would you mind, Mrs. Rockman, if I'd take Jack up to the Camellia Bed? I'd love to show him my favourite blooms.” 

“Oh, you are interested in flowers, Inspector?” 

“Very much, Mrs. Rockman. If you'll excuse me, I do need to see this beautiful specimen my daughter has found.” 

They hurried away, before the lady had found her breath to offer joining them, both trying to suppress their laughter until they had arrived at the dark green shrubs. Most of them however weren 't flowering. 

“I fear it's not the season for blooms,” Jack said, running his fingers of the glossy leaves of a camellia tree. 

“Of course not,” Jane grinned. “But you looked so miserable that I felt the need to rescue you.” 

Jack laughed, wrapping his arm around the shoulder of his daughter and leading her through under the roof of dark leaves.

“Thank you. I think she was just about to list every single plant kept in the herbarium.” 

“My pleasure.” 

He felt her lean her head against his shoulder for a brief moment and a wave of happiness flooded his veins. It had been no more than half a year since he had tied the knot with Phryne and gained Jane as his legal ward. Yet, he couldn't remember how it had felt to not be her father. He didn't particularly care to remember either. They stepped out of the shrubbery to find a small herb garden with triangular beds built of red brick which formed a circle. The scent of rosemary and lavender hung in the air, even though the latter just started to shyly open it's blooms.

“Should we go looking for peppermint?” Jane quipped, struggling free from his embrace. 

“I think I'll pass, thank you,” he grinned, shaking off both images flooding his brain, before either could affect him. He didn't particularly feel the need to be reminded of his close brush with death while searching a forest for the herb with Jane back in last autumn, nor did he currently feel any longing to remember too vividly the erotic adventures with his wife in a lavender field. Instead he inspected his watch. 

“I believe we should return to the group, before Phryne declares us missing,” he said, not without a hint of regret. 

“I believe she enjoys the company of Mel's mother,” Jane grinned, tearing herself away from a plant of lemon thyme which's lovely leaves had captured her attention for a moment. 

“As much as most people enjoy their teeth being pulled,” the Inspector stated dryly, turning towards the path that would lead them back to boring conversation and hopefully a picnic. “She is an interesting specimen your friend. Don't you find her a little silly?” 

Jane shrugged.

“She is a lot of fun, with always something to tell me.” 

“Most of which is nonsense,” the Inspector pointed out with some distaste. He held a certain dislike for fools and wasn't sure why Jane, who was doubtlessly blessed with a quick wit, would decide to have a silly girl for her most cherished friend. 

“I know that,” Jane said levelly. “But she is entertaining.” 

Jack nodded at this. He guessed entertainment was important.

“And also, she is very nice and kind,” his daughter added, as if she had to defend her like of the girl. The Inspector opened his mouth to say something, but stopped in his tracks instead. 

“You shouldn't be here,” he said, crouching down in the shadow of a tree. Jane had dropped down beside him, extending her hand. 

“Don't touch it!” Jack said a bit sharper than he had meant to. Her hand flew back as if she had burned herself. 

“Belladonna,” she whispered as if the small, ugly shrub was a holy artefact. 

“Deadly nightshade,” Jack said, regretting to have raised his voice at her. “Please take care with those, I wouldn't want you to poison yourself.” 

“Don't worry, I'm not stupid,” Jane said. “But I wouldn't speak for other people.” 

Jack leaned down to look where she was pointing. He licked his suddenly dry lips when he realised what she meant. The green leaves and purple flowers ended abruptly. Someone had removed a branch. Someone who either had no idea that he was holding one of the most toxic plants in the world in his hands or... He looked at Jane, realising that she was thinking along the same lines: Or possibly someone who knew exactly.

X

She was going to be deaf, she was sure of it. How a tiny human make this much noise was beyond her imagination, but surely her ears would have to give up soon. Thomas had screamed for the last hour without pausing for air and Dot could feel her temper slipping. She was exhausted. Gently rocking him on her arms, she walked another round through the small parlour, babbling soothing words while feverishly trying to think of something she had not yet attempted. There was nothing.

“Are you certain you don't want any help with him, Dorothy?” 

Mr. Butler's bald head was poking through the door, his face displaying careful helpfulness. Mrs. Williams gave up. She may have fended off his attempts to give her a hand all morning, but in the end there was only so much a single woman could stand. And surely he would have to be annoyed by now  as well. 

But there was no  displeasure to be found in Tobias' features when he gently took the baby boy from his mother. To Dots astonishment, the butler began to sing to her little son, a nursery rhyme she thought she had long since forgotten. He didn't have a great singing voice, it was rough and obviously hadn't been used in many years, but there was a tenderness to it that made her smile all the same. Thomas kept screaming for a long moment in confusion before he realised that something was going on. Startled, he stopped, looking up at the funny, wrinkly face with big eyes. 

In a mixture of relief and exhaustion, Dottie sank into a chair.

“I've been rocking him for over an hour,” she said, fighting down the suspicion that she was a terrible mother. Mr. Butler grinned at the small boy, his heart jumping, when he got a smile in return. 

“Don't worry, Dorothy, you both had a rather rough day yesterday. He just needs to get used to you. Why don't you get some sleep and I take him outside for a walk? That always worked wonders with my little niece Rebecca. Mind you, little Rebecca is turning 25 next April,” he added on afterthought. 

He looked up from where he had been babbling to Thomas more than actually telling Dot a story and found the young mother fast asleep in her armchair. Smiling, he took the little boy out into the hall where his pram was waiting for him to take his first wander around the block. After  Tobias had bedded the bub into the soft cushions he returned to the parlour to drape an equally soft blanket over Dot's sleeping frame. 

A tiny sound tore Mr. Butler from his musing and caused him to return to the hall hurriedly. Thomas had just opened his mouth to start screaming, but closed it again at the raised eyebrows greeting him in a friendly face.

“Don't you start again, little man,” Tobias said gently. “Your mother does need some rest.” 

It was hard to say if Thomas Collins could understand yet what was asked from him, but either way he shoved his thumb into his tiny mouth and patiently waited for his chauffeur to take him outside.

X

Phryne discovered the worried crease in Jack brow as soon as he joined her on her picnic blanket. It was a beautiful spring day and the warm wind brushing over her skin made the mixed company quite bearable. Despite this, the Lady Detective had unfolded the chequered blanket somewhat away from the group of chattering mothers in the soft grass near the lazily moving waters. She felt strangely energised by her spontaneous tango and up until a moment ago had held her face with the into the warm breeze  with the quiet happiness of a cat , willingly taking the risk of getting a tan. But there was a dark cloud displayed on Jack's features and her curiosity didn't allow her to ignore his anxiety for a moment longer. 

“Did you enjoy your stroll, Inspector?” she asked, without turning her head. Jack mumbled something under his breath, while he dropped beside her onto the warmed fabric. His hand momentarily ran over her back as he got comfortable and Phryne wished the group of chattering and eating people away, wanting to just cuddle up to him in a completely unladylike manner. 

“I assume you haven't lost Jane somewhere in the wilderness?” she asked, when she received no answer, now slightly agitated. 

“Her attention was caught by Miss Melody's wishes to play a game of hide and seek,” Jack answered smoothly, wondering how to explain that a missing branch kept his head spinning with worry. Phryne finally tore herself away from the warm sun and gave him her full attention, extending her hand to remove his hat. Despite himself, he smiled. 

“And what has spoiled your mood, Jack?” she asked, fishing a the bottle of champagne out of the lovingly prepared picnic basket. 

Her husband stretched out on the warm blanket, before answering, not particularly surprised by her observation.

“We stumbled over a poisonous shrub near the herb gardens,” the Inspector finally said, aware that what he was going to tell her would sound silly. 

“As long as neither of you took a bite, I fear that is no reason to spoil this beautiful day,” Phryne said, popping the cork that disappeared with a soft plot in the grass while the bottle spilled bubbly liquid over her fingers. Jack absent mindedly held out the glasses for her to fill, while the crease in his forehead deepened. He wondered for a moment if he really should make a fool of himself, then told her about their find. Phryne listened quietly, sipping her champagne. When he'd finished she nodded. 

“So you fear there might be a child running around with a deadly plant held in it's hands?” she finally asked. 

“That is certainly one possibility,” Jack answered vaguely. 

“You don't think you've discovered an intended murder weapon?” she asked, biting into a strawberry. For a moment Jack forgot everything he knew about Belladonna and watched her red lips wrap around the juicy fruit. She smiled, hardly visible. The Inspector cleared his throat, shifting in the hope to conceal that his body had just remembered last night. There were serious doubts on his mind that he stood a chance against Phryne's sharp eyes. 

“It was a clean cut. Not what I'd expect from a playing child,” he explained. 

She hummed under her breath, while extending her hand to feed him another berry. Jack looked at her for a long moment, then bit into the soft red flesh, without being able suppress a grin.

“If you are right, I doubt there is a whole lot we can do about it,” she pointed out, while he chewed. 

“We can hardly search the city for someone who took a branch from a park.” 

Jack sat down his glass and leaned back, now resting on his elbows.

“I fear you are right,” he said darkly. 

“So until someone drops dead with Belladonna poisoning, I would suggest you try and enjoy the afternoon,” Phryne purred, lying down beside him. The Inspector nodded, somewhat unsatisfied, but had to admit that she had a point. How could he worry himself about something that might never happen? He resolved to keep his eyes open for any unusual deaths in the coming days and otherwise take his wife's advice. A warm hand running through his hair tore him from his dark thoughts. Phryne didn't say anything but her eyes were asking him to let it go. Jack grinned. She tilted her head in question. 

“I just realised something, Miss Fisher,” he whispered, resting his hand on her hip in a way that was probably not quite appropriate in public. 

“And what is that, Inspector?” 

“To feel the wind in your hair, you actually have to allow yourself to run.” 

Phryne didn't understand a word he was saying, but had a vague idea what he was trying to express. She pulled him in for a  definitely  inappropriate kiss,  while her mind wandered .  Miss Fisher had always taken a slight, guilty pleasure out of his displays of jealousy, but a s nice as it was to  realise that her husband was still far from  indifferent to seeing her with another man, she was also worried about him.  Last nights incident had never happened in their bedroom before and if she was any judge he had no problems of the kind this morning. She couldn 't shake the suspicion that he wasn't telling her everything and she hated with a passion when he hid things from her to deal with them himself.  Yet, i t was a hard habit to break. 

She herself was still struggling to express the things cluttering her own mind. Right now, she was hiding the question what it would take for him to forget his proper upbringing and embrace the fire of Argentinian Tango. There was no lack of passion hidden behind those three-piece suits, but bringing it out into the public was another matter. Phryne sighed, realising with a start that she was being watched. 

“What's on your mind?” he asked, his eyes soft. 

Phryne turned back to the sun, trying to collect her thoughts before she answered.

“I just thought how much I would like to take up tangoing again.” 

Her voice was nonchalant, her eyes closed as she revelled in the warm breeze and waited, wondered what his reaction might be. And so she missed the dark shadow sweeping over Jack's face before, in a tone that was just as neutral as hers,  he said : “I believe it would be a loss if you didn't.” 

She turned, finding to her surprise complete sincerity.

“You wish for me to go and dance?” she asked with a thin smile, barely hiding her disappointment. Jack may have picked up on it, hadn't he been too busy struggling with his own feelings. Instead he returned her smile. 

“I don't believe it is a matter of my wishes, Phryne. You are an accomplished dancer and I certainly wouldn't want to restrict your pleasures.” 

Phryne had not time to answer him, as laughter sounded. Jane came running down the hill, her dress fluttering in the wind.

“Jack, Phryne, you really need to join in, it is so much fun!”

She dropped beside them into the grass, completely oblivious to the grass stains her white dress would certainly suffer. The Inspector couldn't help but smile as he watched her dive onto a sandwich with the vigour of someone who certainly didn't restrict her pleasures. As much as she had grown into a young woman, there was still some child left. He rather hoped she would never lose it.

“Charly is so good at hiding, Mel and I had to search for her forever. She just kept moving,” Jane breathlessly explained, her mouth full of chicken. Jack swallowed down any comments on her lack of manners. He rather embraced the fact that between foxtrot and lacy dresses she was still Jane. To his surprise, Phryne raised her eyebrows. 

“I believe that's called cheating. And also that young ladies should chew with their mouths closed.” 

Two pairs of eyes looked at her with some surprise. Jane parted her lips then thought better of it and swallowed first.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her enthusiasm somewhat deflated. “I didn't mean to be rude.” 

Phryne did her best to ignore the Inspector's menacing stare.

“I doubt that Jack cares any more than myself if you speak with your mouth full, Jane, but you did want to join polite society and that is a faux pas you shouldn't commit.” 

She grinned.

“Etiquette should however not keep you from doing anything you wish. And I am looking forward to a game of hide-and-seek now.” 

She pulled herself from her blanket, stretching out her hand for her daughter, who had finished eating and took the peace offering with no hesitation.

“Jack?”

She turned, but found the blanket empty. Only the  brown hat was still lying in the grass. 


	6. La Volta

He dove behind a tree, pressing himself against the bark. If he paid attention he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. There was laughter in the distance and Jack dared to glimpse around the corner. The hint of a face was flashing between the leaves. The Inspector retreated slowly, careful to avoid stepping on any creaky branches and almost suffered a heart attack, when a hand fell onto his shoulder. Holding onto the trunk, he caught his breath, before turning to where he met Phryne's self-satisfied grin,  way too close to avoid her warm body. 

“You seem a little jumpy today, Inspector,” she whispered.

Jack rolled his eyes. While they stayed in breathless silence, both Detectives glanced at where Charlotte McAster was currently sneaking through the bushes, obviously having almost been caught and therefore moving her position. Melody's older sister was  of an age where society expected her to have outgrown children's games and instead be looking for a husband. Especially since the McAster's were, as the rumours went, in some financial strife. As she was of a robust form of beauty and not half as silly as her younger siblings, that shouldn't  have  be en too much of a challenge, yet she didn't seem particularly interested in finding  herself  a rich, boring  husband . Phryne could sympathise with that. In fact, the man currently pressed against her, invading her senses with his scent and warmth, wasn't boring her in the slightest. She could feel Jack's heartbeat through his clothes where her hand was lazily lying against his ribcage.  His breath seemed still somewhat laboured even after he had gotten over his first shock and there was something pres sing against her hip that left little doubt about him finding her nearness rather exciting. Phryne pondered the chances of getting away with ducking out to the Hispano, racing home and being back before anyone would have noticed their absence. Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of warm arms  embracing her and moments later, she found herself pressed up against the rough, warm trunk of a tree and being kissed so thoroughly that she feared her senses to fade. 

And while her reasonable mind protested that there w ere a whole party of people only a few yards away, not least of them Jane,  Jack's hand trailing down her thigh, rendered any attempt at resistance futile.  Phryne 's fingers had also developed a life of their own, she realised. Before she had resurfaced from her first surprise they had found their way underneath Jack's coat, pulling on the seams of his shirtsleeves while she panted into his mouth. She felt her whole body vibrating with the thrill of being completely unreasonable. Just when she had succeeded in tearing his shirt tail out of his trousers, a scream cut through the mild air. Others followed. 

With some regret, Phryne dislodged her lips from her husband's . Jack's eyes were glazed and he was breathing so hard that she wasn't certain if he had even heard it. But he was already wordlessly sorting his clothes, before she had a chance to ask and they arrived at the edge of the shrubbery together only moments later. Luckily, nobody was paying much attention to them. The huddle of people was so thick that it took them a moment to realise that there was what appeared to be a female body lying in their midst. 

“Let me through,” Jack demanded. Reluctantly the curious people parted. He arrived at Charlotte's motionless form a moment later, her mother almost in hysterics by her side. 

“Someone get some water!” Phryne ordered, already crouching down beside him. 

“Miss Charlotte?” 

Jack gently shook the girl and a moment later, a pair of grey eyes fluttered open. Whispers spread like wildfire through the collected people. Miss McAster groaned,  pulling herself into a sitting position, aided by Jack's hands . 

“What happened?” 

“Your sister found you lying in the grass!” her mother sobbed, grasping the hand of the confused young woman. “I thought you were very ill or even dead.” 

Mrs. Robinson extended her hand, feeling the girl's pulse.

“Nothing of the kind,” she said. “Just a little too much sun, I would guess. You had better take her home, Mrs. McAster.” 

Under excited chattering the girl was helped to her feet and escorted towards the path. Jack's eyes sought out Jane, noticing that she was huddled with some of the boys from her dancing lessons.  Her partner from earlier  now seemed to also stand a little closer than absolutely necessary, excitedly talking to her. Jack's jaw set, just when his daughter spun, walking up to him with worry etched on her face. 

“Is she going to be all right?” she asked. 

“I believe she just had so much fun, she exhausted herself,” Jack answered, without tearing his eyes from the boy, who was laughing with one of his mates, but glimpsed briefly at Jane whose cheeks were flushed. 

Phryne's attention was meanwhile caught by another young man who stood somewhat further away, staring lost at the whole scene. He jumped when she approached him.

“Mr. Riley, isn't it?” 

He cleared his throat, his blue eyes darting from the retreating group around Charlotte back to her.

Then he smiled and the sun rose.

“Mrs. Robinson. How nice to meet you again. I never got the chance to tell you how much I admire your technique.” 

“It's a tad rusty, I am afraid.” 

“I didn't think you were the type for unnecessary modesty.” 

His smile could have melted butter at this stage and Phryne was compelled to let him have his effect.

“Guilty as charged, Mr. Riley. Would you keep me company for a glass of champagne? I might need one after the shock.” 

Mrs. Robinson gently guided the young man towards their blanket. She was curious. His charms didn't have the long and proven quality of Nicolas Steeger's, but there was something about him that was incredibly captivating.

But the shadow currently clouding his blue eyes didn't go amiss on the Lady Detective. 

“A shock it certainly was. I hope she will recover.” 

“I'm sure she is just fine. Do you know Miss MacAster well?” 

Julian seemed to wake from dark thoughts to look at her in surprise.

“No, not at all. Her sister is one of the Debutantes, I believe.” 

“Melody,” Phryne said happily, handing him a glass of champagne. “She's close friends with my daughter.” 

The boyish grin returned.

“Allow me to say that you do not look old enough to have a daughter being a debutante, Mrs. Robinson.” 

Phryne 's red lips pulled into a simper. She was starting to enjoy this game. 

“While that was a terrible attempt at flattering me, Mr. Riley, I will admit that I was not as such involved in Jane's birth. Her birth mother is somewhat indisposed and so I became her guardian.” 

Both pairs of eyes glanced over to where Jack and Jane seemed to have a animated conversation.

“She's a lovely girl, very smart,” Julian said after a long moment of silence. 

Phryne looked up, somewhat surprised. She didn't remember Jane mentioning him. And she certainly would have to be enthralled by those bright blue eyes.

“Are you one of her dancing instructors?” she asked. To her surprise, he laughed. 

“No, Mrs. Robinson, I don't teach dance. I am merely a student myself. Mind you, a good student may eventually outdo their master.” 

His eyes glittered in amusement.

“I'm assuming Mr. Steeger is the certain teacher in this line of thought? I sensed some tension in the room.” 

“He didn't take kindly to Madame Claudine picking me over him to dance tango at the ball. With his wife, none the less.” 

Phryne nodded, remembering the exchanged glances.

“That would hurt a man's pride,” she smiled. 

“It has. He is certainly a great dancer,” the young man said, amusement written through his warm, deep voice. “But he has a reputation for being rather unreliable and, I if you'll allow me to gossip, his tango does have a touch of scandal at times.” 

Phryne  couldn't help the mischievous grin . 

“As a good tango should.” 

A pair of blue eyes sparkled over the edge of a champagne glass while the young man  took a sip . 

“That may be true, Mrs. Robinson, but then maybe not under the eyes of 'proper' society.” 

“In my experience, there is no society that is too proper for a bit of scandal,” Phryne smiled, feeling her heart flutter excitedly in her chest. It had been a long time since she had been so obviously flirted with by someone other than Jack. It was rather intoxicating. Or possibly it was just the champagne that made her head feel light. But she came to the firm conclusion that she had to head home very, very soon and that Jack wouldn't stand a chance for escape this time. 

X

It had seemed a good plan at the time. An hour and a half later, Mrs. Phryne Robinson sat somewhat miffed in the corner of her parlour, pretending to enjoy the company of a good book and a drink. How could she have forgotten? It was Sunday afternoon and traditionally the time Jane and Jack shared a game of chess. Or two. Or three, if they felt particularly clever. Due to their short family history it wasn't a very deep rooted tradition, but every one had to be started at some point, Phryne guessed. And usually she cherished watching them, making comments from the distance and generally intruding into their father-daughter time as much as humanly possible. Usually she did not, however, watch Jack's fingers trail lazily over the head of his Queen while he was thinking, did not pay much attention to the tiny smile when he took one of Jane's pawns or notice the lines of his neck move, when he tilted his head. Or possibly she did – but it usually did not give her hot flashes, she was certain. Phryne rearranged her limbs in the armchair and tried to concentrate on the job at hand. But it was impossible to care about the fate of Emma Woodhouse, while Jack shifted in his seat, granting her a brief hint at his thigh muscles moving underneath the thin layer of woolen trousers. Phryne bit her lip, trying to channel her thoughts into any other direction - but in vain. The urge to tear Jack's clothes from his body would not leave. What made the experience more frustrating, was that he seemed to have recovered from his own spell of overwhelming lust with no traces left. Back in the park it had almost appeared as if he was too far gone to even let Charlotte's fainting spell stop him, yet now with Jane he seemed so relaxed that she couldn't help but wonder if she had dreamed the whole encounter. 

Phryne gave up and snapped the book shut. Today she would not find out if Frank Churchill was in fact the charmer he seemed to be or a cad after all  \- even though her money was on the latter.  Her husband briefly looked up, shooting her a tiny grin. She smiled back. What choice did she have? She could hardly drag him away from their daughter to ravish him, as much as she wanted to. So she leaned back, let her thoughts drift and tried her hardest to relax. Outside, a bird sang through the open window. Surely it couldn't be that hard to not think of the feel of Jack's skin under her fingertips. 

There was plenty to think about. Dot for example. She'd appeared stressed when her employer had visited her briefly on returning home, the young mother carrying her tiny baby through the house as if she was trying to run a marathon, apologizing a hundred times about the screaming in the gone night and Phryne had graciously brushed it off as if it was nothing, but to no avail. In fact, Thomas had hardly been hearable all afternoon, probably due to not getting a minute of rest while his mother attempted to soothe him before he even found time to cry.

Despite enjoying the silence, currently only disturbed by the clicking of wooden figurines moving over a chessboard and some leaves rustling in the breeze, Phryne felt somewhat sorry for her maid. Motherhood seemed an awful lot of work for her and it had been less than 24 hours. Why on earth anyone would want it, was beyond her.

Laughter tore her from that though t. Jane 's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as she protested: “You are cheating!” 

“I didn't think cheating was possible in chess,” Jack answered, but his simper gave him away. There was no doubt. 

“You are the worst liar,” Jane laughed, rescuing the falsely accused pawn from his hands. 

“So I am told,” he grinned, seeking out Phryne's gaze. Warmth spread through her chest. 

S o all things considered motherhood and marriage weren't all that terrible. In fact she wouldn't have given this up for the world, despite sometimes... Mrs. Robinson leaned back in her chair, curiously glancing at the thought that had just appeared in her mind. Sometimes she  did  miss her freedom. She had indulged in dancing with Nicolas, flirting with Julian  and  there was a tiny bit of regret that they would never see anyone but 'Mrs. Jack Robinson' in her. She glanced up to where Jack was still watching her, humour written through his eyes and felt a lurch of guilt in her stomach. She rose, taking the three steps over to the chessboard and glanced over his shoulder, fighting the  re-emerging urges when the smell of soap and Jack reached her nose. Instead she leaned over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Are you trying to distract me, Miss Fisher?” he asked, without taking his fingers from the springer. 

“I wouldn't dream of it, Inspector.” 

Her finger tips however trailed up his leg in a gesture that may have appeared nonchalant to Jane but certainly was understood as the promise it was. 

“Your move, Jack,” their daughter urged, when he didn't seem to be willing to continue. Jack cleared his throat, staring at the figurines as if he had never thought about anything but the position of his king. 

“You are very impatient in winning.” 

“It is barely half past four. If you hurry up the losing, you will get a chance for revenge before you are leaving for dinner,” Jane grinned. Phryne groaned inwardly, while retreating to a standing position without leaving Jack's mesmerising aura of warmth. From here she could see the tiny hairs in his neck standing to attention where she had breathed at them. Apparently he wasn't quite as nonchalant to her proximity as he pretended to be. But at the current rate they wouldn't have a choice but to try for a quick act of passion while getting changed for dinner. Riya might forgive them a slight delay in their arrival. 

Suddenly Jane jumped to her feet, sending her chair tumbling and both her parents to stare at her in confusion. She slammed a hand in front of her mouth.

“Oh dear, I completely forgot. Cec and Bert are due to take me to Madame Fleuri's at 4.30. I'd better go.” 

She dashed for the door, turning halfway and running back.

“Sorry, we will have to finish later,” she panted, pressing a kiss to the still surprised Jack's cheek. Waving her foster mother goodbye, she chased towards the door, yelling over her shoulder just when she reached the hall. “And don't you dare move your king while I'm gone.” 

Phryne laughed at this while Jack just sat in amused silence until the front door shut.

“She takes after you,” he said, while they listened to the horn of the cabbies outside. 

“Seeing right through you?” Phryne asked. Steps rushed down the path. 

“Is Mr. Butler in?” Jack asked. 

“Out shopping for groceries,” his wife replied casually. The gate fell shut. A chair tumbled, wooden figurines cluttered to the floor. Moments later the spouses were desperately clinging to each other, their lips interlocked, trashing fingers trying to rid them and each other of as many clothes as possible in the same instance. In a little dance of groping hands, a trail of fabric and barely suppressed moans they made their way towards the stairs, silently agreeing that they needed no repeat of last night's disaster. This time they didn't make it to Jack's bedroom, but then neither of them cared. Heavily falling on Phryne's bed, they tried to detangle their limbs for long enough to find some sort of position and rid themselves of all the clothes that had made it up to here. With glazed eyes Jack watched Phryne fumble with his trouser buttons that seemed to have become an impregnable barrier within the last minutes. It took all his patience to not push her away and try for himself. Finally she succeeded and he threw his head back with a groan when she touched him, fearing that he would explode before they managed to get any further. Phryne didn't seem to worry about his pending doom as he felt her lips wrap around him, pushing him dangerously close to the edge with their mere touch. But Jack had no strength to resist and let himself sink back on the bed, surrendering to her warm mouth. It was incredible and yet, somewhere in his hazy mind he realised that he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. 

“Phryne?” he whispered, willing her to understand and almost lost it when she looked at him with big eyes and tousled hair, her lipstick smeared. 

“Dear God! I am so sorry!” 

The  scream came from somewhere near the door, where Dorothy Collins currently was dropping a basket full of freshly ironed clothes to slap her han ds in front of her mouth, but didn't seem in any state to tear herself away from the scene. A rather ungentlemanlike curse escaped Jack's lips, as he fished for an edge of the duvet, struggling free from Phryne's clutches in the progress. 

“I... I should have knocked, I didn't think anyone was home. I am terribly sorry,” Dot repeated, as if in trance, completely oblivious to Jack turning the shade of a rather ripe tomato. Phryne had risen and was now gently taking her maid by the elbow to lead her out of the room. 

“It's all right, Dot. Just calm down. What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be watching your bub?” 

“He's asleep and since Mr. Butler took all afternoon to soothe him, I thought I'd put the laundry away for him... The laundry! I dropped it!” 

Before Phryne could react, Dorothy had spun to the still open door, trying to  collect the littered clothes from the ground. It was bad luck that Jack had chosen just this very moment to leave the safety of his cover to fish his discarded trousers from the floor, bringing the maid yet again face to face with the Inspector in a state of complete undress. Jack ripped the first item in reach to himself, bringing a bedside lamp crashing down. 

“Dot,” Phryne yelled, chasing after her maid, by now barely able to contain her laughter. Jack's expression didn't help her in the slightest. 

“I will take care of the laundry. Now please go back to your house and see if Thomas is still asleep,” Phryne said, gently retrieving Dorothy from the bedroom and pointing her down the stairs. A look over her shoulder caused another giggle to rise in her throat. Her husband still looked somewhere between mortified and angry, currently attempting to get dressed while still clutching a book to himself in a way that Phryne was sure would make the author blush. But the curve of his butt as he bent over to grab his trousers also reminded her of unfinished business and she turned to see if Dot had disappeared yet, but found her still standing at the top of the stairs, looking just as embarrassed as Jack. 

“I am terribly sorry, Ma'am. I made a complete mess of this and the Inspector will be so angry with me...” 

Phryne was beside her in three steps, realising that she herself wasn't wearing any more than her camisole and a pair of half unbuttoned pants.

“Don't worry, Dot, Jack will get over it.” 

But despite the soothing words, Mrs. Collins looked close to tears and Phryne got the distinct feeling that something else was going on. Throwing a longing look at Jack, who had retrieved enough clothes to be not fully dressed but at least sit at the edge of the bed with some dignity, she sighed. He nodded understanding with his jaw set.

“You know, Dot, I think I'd like a cup of tea. We had better have it in your kitchen, we wouldn't want Thomas to wake up alone.” 

Within seconds, Phryne had slung her black morning gown over her shoulders and led Dot down the stairs and into the hall, easily chattering as if nothing had happened. Jack stayed behind alone - mortified, confused, and incredibly frustrated. After several minutes of staring blankly against the wall, willing his body to calm down, he decided to take a bath and get ready for their dinner with Riya Santi.


	7. Kuchipudi

“I do fear, poor Dot might have gotten the shock of her lifetime.“ 

Riya laughed loudly, her eyes sparkling. Jack couldn't resist a grim smile himself. Their hostess certainly was enjoying Phryne's recount of this afternoons events, even though his wife had thankfully spared her the saucier details. Then again, his ears were still glowing gently in the candlelight.

“I am glad you find some amusement in this whole affair, Miss Fisher,” he stated dryly, setting down his empty wine glass and leaning back. 

“Since all other amusement seems to be thwarted at this stage, I'm bound to find it somewhere,” she said, draining her own glass. Jack wondered briefly how many she'd had during the dinner, but it was more than she would usually drink, giving him a hint that she was not only amused by Dot's interruption. But he also felt his eyes drawn to Mrs. Santi, who was still smiling while waving her maid over for some instructions. If she was embarrassed by what was being shared with her, she didn't show it. Jack wasn't sure if he should be surprised. The artist was a little on the eccentric side, possibly mostly presented by her hair, which generally defied any form of being drawn up into an appropriate do. Tonight it was taken up into a complicated, yet certainly not 'proper', knot on the back of her head. Her dress, the other thing that always seemed a little odd about her, was as usually a cloud of fabric, tonight in at least ten different shades of blue, some of them so bright that it burned the eyes. That it didn't manage to take away any of her beauty said something about the latter. But what really fascinated Jack about Miss Fisher's friend was her seemingly effortless way of freedom. She reminded him a lot of Phryne in some aspects, yet there was no vibe of defiance to her. While Phryne and Mac battled against conventions, each in their own way, knowing that they ran up against windmills that were not going to still for many years to come, she just shrugged those windmills off. Where Miss Fisher happily and deliberately ignored the rules, Mrs. Santi appeared to simply be oblivious to their existence. It was almost as if she lived in a world of her own – one that she painted with her colours. 

“Shall we go over to the drawing room?” Riya asked, her almond eyes holding the Inspector's gaze. He couldn't shake the feeling that she had caught him pondering her. He cleared his throat before agreeing, following the chattering women somewhat lost through the old, creaky hallway. The house was as astounding as it's owner. It was old and somewhat battered, yet not neglected. Every corner of it's huge interior seemed to be filled with clutter. Not the boring, tasteless decorations that the Inspector had often seen in the houses of the rich and important, but witnesses of a moved life, travelling around the world. Riya's treasures included rocks of no significant worth, but shaped by some ocean across the globe into an interesting shape; dried flowers that had probably been retrieved from some jungle by an adventurer endangering his life to bring it home; music instruments whose use he doubted even Riya Santi could decipher. And books, he realised, when he stepped through the door into a comfortable, large drawing room where a fire was crackling happily. It reminded him somewhat of a library, but those were generally much less chaotic. There were leather and paper bound volumes on every flat surface, including the armchair that was offered to him. He picked up the heavy book that kept him from sitting down, unable to resist glancing at the title. 

“_**Faust**_?” he asked, now curious. 

“An attempt to keep my German in shape,” Riya laughed. “I personally think it is a rather overrated work, though I also believe that is an impossible thing to say.” 

Jack grinned, taking a seat.

“But then, there is a pleasure in saying the impossible,” Phryne quipped, accepting another glass from her. A frown ghosted over Jack's features. He was rather hoping to get her home and into bed without her being too drunk to enjoy the encounter he was planning. 

“I certainly do, my dear. But then, arguing the classics generally happens in vain. There is no point in ever questioning what once was decided to be a stroke of genius.” 

Jack was listening with only half an ear, curiously flipping through the old, yellowing pages filled with mostly nonsensical words. He was quite certain that his limited remains of German wouldn't be of too much help here, even though he darkly remembered reading it a long time ago.

“It's an interesting question though,” he mumbled. “What price would one pay for one's happiness?” 

The Inspector had spoken almost without realising. Now he looked up to find two women watching him with interest.

“I rather tire of the blame that is laid on people chasing for their personal happiness,” Phryne said after a moment of silence. Jack nodded, still weighing the heavy book in his hands.

“Yet nothing comes without a price.” 

Phryne felt a little tipsy at this stage, but couldn't help wondering if this was a purely philosophical discussion. Was Jack trying to tell her something? His grey eyes, dark in the light of the fire, were glued to her, but instead of answering her burning question he slammed the book shut and smiled.

“I hate to interrupt this interesting subject,” Riya quipped from her small bar, without tearing her attention from a decanter. “But what do you wish to drink, Inspector?” 

“I'm believe, I can settle for your single malt, Mrs. Santi.” 

A moment later, much too short for any glass to be filled, a tumbler was thrust into his hand and Mrs. Santi sank down in an armchair across from him, not without having to retrieve a rather small volume on  _ **“Flowering Shrubs in the Western Countries of Europe”** _ from her seat beforehand. Briefly, the Inspector was reminded of his find in the park, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, he realised that the women had started a conversation on a different subject. 

“Is Jane happy with Madame Claudine?”

“Very much so, she appears to hugely enjoy her dancing lessons.”

For a moment, Riya seemed to battle with herself, then she stated calmly: “If her reputation is to be believed, Mrs. Germain is an accomplished dancer but a questionable teacher.”

Phryne and Jack shared the look of parents who had found their child near a purring cat that looked suspiciously like a tiger.

“Would you like to expand on that subject?” Jack finally asked, when their host seemed unwilling to continue. Riya played with her glass. 

“She is said to be rather hard on the girls in regards to their learning skills,” she said after a moment of hesitance. “And Mrs. Blair mentioned today over lunch that she reacted with disproportionate aggression when being asked a somewhat private question by her daughter. Mind you, Miss Amelie might cause me to lose my tempter too, one of these days.” 

The last was uttered with a thin smile, but Riya's tense expression betrayed her true feelings. She  set down her glass. 

“It is not my intention to spread rumours on people I have never met, yet thought you might want to keep an eye on the lady while Jane is in her company every single day.” 

Jack shared another look with his wife.

“We certainly will,” he promised. 

“We met her this morning though and she seemed very civil,” Phryne pushed in. Then her face lit up. “I also met the most astonishing tango dancer, Riya. You should have seen him. Not a wasted move in his lead.” 

The change of subject sparked Mrs. Santi's attention and she leaned forward in her seat.

“You danced with him, didn't you?” she asked after a moment, an amused smile on her face. “Now don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes. In fact I always thought I should paint you when you tango.”

“Yet you never have,” Phryne quipped. Jack followed the conversation somewhat breathlessly, wondering what sparked the excitement filling the room like thick fog. 

“Did Phryne ever tell you that we loved dancing together back in our days in Paris?” 

“Not that I am aware of,” Jack answered with a thin smile, then cleared his throat. “When you say together-?” 

“She means that she is the most accomplished leader. No man has ever compared.” Phryne tilted her head, pondering for a moment. “Even though Nicolas Steeger might come close,” she added, grinning. 

Riya sat down her glass and got to her feet, crossing the room.

“I believe this demands a demonstration,” she called, freeing a record from it's dusty cover and laying it onto the gramophone with gentle fingers. 

“I thought you'd never ask,” Phryne grinned, getting to her feet while throwing Jack a smouldering look. The Inspector felt his heart skip a beat, as he watched her stride onto the make-shift dance floor of barely a few square meters of uncluttered parquet. 

Her white hand slipped somewhere into the blue cloud, two pairs of sparkling eyes locked and Jack watched on in amazement as the women started moving to the intense  melody of the music. It was different from what he had seen in the morning. These two knew each other, despite not having danced tango in many years, they hadn't forgotten a single feel, an embrace or move. They couldn't have danced after any plan and Phryne was certainly tipsy at this stage, yet nothing seemed improvised. There wasn't a shaky moment, no uncertainty, just a perfect flow of two bodies. And despite all it's smoothness it held a raw beauty and intensity that caused him to lose his breath. 

His hand unconsciously found the knot of his tie. The Inspector wasn't sure if Phryne was teasing him on purpose or if she just couldn't help it, but this was a lot more erotic than her encounter with Nicolas Steeger, may it be through the private setting or the intimacy the two women shared. In an instance he was very glad that he was sitting. As he watched them in stunned silence, a thought occurred to him and suddenly his heart felt a lot lighter at the idea of Phryne tangoing with another man. Her dance was an embrace of the music and it was her very own magic that caused the air to thicken and spark around her. Her partner barely mattered other than flowing with her. And Jack had no right to stop her magic, none whatsoever, he reminded himself, as another ache crept through his heart.

It was bittersweet agony in which he watched the two women pivot over the floor, a drop of sweat glittering in Phryne's neck as Riya twirled her perfectly around her body, catching her and pulling her close again to the last notes. Panting, both women returned to the here and now. Phryne  spun  towards where her husband was sitting, completely absorbed. 

“Well, Jack. What do you think?” 

“Astounding,” he said, his voice giving away nothing. But Phryne couldn't help a simper. His eyes were dark and full of longing and the way he held himself far from casual. The magic hadn't been lost on him. It was time for the next step. 

“I rather think you should try it for yourself, Jack,” she smiled sweetly, extending her hand. He took it, still looking at her, then pulled her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. 

“I think I'd rather not make a fool of myself yet again, Miss Fisher,” he grinned. “You seem to have plenty of more accomplished dancers in your acquaintance, who will be only too happy to assist you.” 

“Coward,” Phryne quipped, falling back into her chair, her chest still heaving. 

“That I may be, but I am not delusional,” Jack smiled equally sweetly and shifted in his seat to return his attention to their host, who had also sat back down. He might have been astounded by the thoughts currently drifting through Mrs. Santi's mind as she watched the spouses banter. Riya was too polite to address what she could not have missed, but she was worried. So she did the only thing a good host could: She ignored all tension in the room and suggested they play a game of cards. 

X

He was late. It wasn't really his fault, but Hugh felt rather bad when he unlocked his door. He found Dot sitting at the kitchen table, staring against the oven, their little boy nowhere to be seen.

“Good evening, Dottie,” he said carefully, expecting her to be angry. But his wife turned, a thin smile appearing on her tired features. She looked pale. 

“Hello, Hugh. I thought you'd be home earlier.” 

The Constable looked confused at her for a long moment. Something appeared odd to him, but then he wasn't willing to poke at a hornet's nest.

“Foster took sick, I couldn't leave before the night shift arrived. I'm sorry, Dottie.” 

He came closer, trying to kiss her, but she got up before he had a chance.

“Don't worry, Hugh. I know you are working hard. You're dinner is sitting in the oven. I'm afraid it is a bit cold by now.” 

She babbled on, while busily starting to collect a plate and cutlery for him. Hugh sat down, watching her with a frown.

“Dottie, are you all right?” he asked. 

She started, stopped in her tracks. Then she burst into tears.

Hugh was on his feet before his brain had caught up. Unsure what to do, he patted her shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing way, while she just stood crying in the middle of their kitchen. She only kept sobbing and her husband forgot to be careful and pulled her into his arms. But Dot's howling turned louder and Hugh feared he had made a mistake when she suddenly let her head drop against his chest and her arm wrapped around his back as if she'd fear to drown without holding onto him. His heart breaking, he embraced her, confused and worried. They stood in silence until her tears slowed.

“I'm a terrible mother,” she sobbed into his chest, gasping for air between sobs. Shocked, Hugh tried to find her eyes but had to resign himself to gently pat her hair. 

“That's nonsense, Dottie.” 

She laughed bitterly.

“He always cries, Hugh. All the time. He can't look at me without crying.”

The rest of the sentence drowned in sobbing. The Constable didn't know what to say.

“And every time Mr. Butler spends five minutes with him, he is fast asleep.” 

Hugh's thoughts were racing, but he couldn't help himself.

“That's hardly a fair comparison. Mr. Butler could convince a ravenous dragon to settle for tea and buttered toast.”

Dorothy's answer was situated somewhere between a sob and a laugh. She retreated from her husband's arms, wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve in a gesture that was as unladylike as it was adorable. Hugh gently took her head between his hands.

“Give us some time, Dottie. We all need to get used to being a family now. It's not easy on either of us.” 

His eyes were huge and sincere. It was completely impossible not to believe him. So Dottie just nodded and Hugh smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His stomach growled into the resulting silence.

“Now, about this dinner-” 

He didn't get any further as his son decided this very moment that he had slept quite enough.


	8. Waltz

With a sigh, Inspector Jack Robinson sank behind his desk. It was barely 9 o'clock, but he had been in the office since the early morning, cleaning up all paperwork on the suicide case which still cluttered his desk and going through the weekend's sparse events with Constable Jones. Now, there was barely anything left to do. It was time for a murder.

That wasn't a particularly nice thought and he pushed it aside quickly. Yet, Jack was well aware that he needed to fill his day with something other than thinking of his unsatisfied body and Phryne dancing. He had taken her home around 11 o'clock, his wife tipsy and bubbly, he himself filled with the pleasant feeling of a hint too much whisky and absolutely determined to shut out all screaming infants and nosy maids and make love to her through the night. They had barely made it to the bedroom before he had lost both his pants and breath, but once again, Fortuna hadn't been on his side. This time Mr. Butler's had been the bearer of the bad news. Phryne's cousin had taken ill with the family doctor unreachable and a worried Mrs. Stanley insisted on talking to her niece on the telephone. Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Robinson had succumbed and Jack remembered waiting in bed for her to return, while he listened to her quiet voice trying to calm her hysteric aunt, promising her to call Mac out of bed in the middle of the night. He didn't remember a whole lot after.

The Inspector rubbed his face with both palms, trying to shake off his embarrassment. He truly wasn't having a good run at the moment.

In fact he had awoken in the early morning, shivering and aching all over. Phryne had been lying on the other side of the bed, curled up as if she was pouting. A gentle kiss to her neck hadn't woken her however, neither had his tenderly caressing fingers and so he had finally given up and had had a cold wash in the first grey daylight, while his wife hadn't so much as stirred.

The Inspector played with his pen as he replayed the events in his mind, resisting the urge to hurl the ink-pot against the wall before finally resigning himself to draw his name under the last report. Done. Now what?

In the same moment the door flew open and a cloud of French perfume entered, followed by Mrs. Robinson.

“Good morning, Jack,” she thrilled. Her husband was stunned for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Miss Fisher? Isn't it too early for you to be awake? And in such a frightening good mood nevertheless?”

“That is true, Jack. However, Mr. Butler informs me that my husband has left the house without breakfast and I'd be a terrible wife if I'd let him get away with that.”

With those words she slipped at the edge of his desk and uncovered the basket she had brought.

The sweet smell from the collection of pastries wafted through the office and caused the Inspector's mouth to water.

“I doubt I will be able to eat all of this,” he protested for good measure, a boyish grin appearing on his lips.

Phryne knew exactly what food was doing to him. In the long, lonely years as a married-on-paper bachelor he had gotten used to eating dry bread or quite often, nothing at all. Policing wasn't particularly well matched with more than the most basic of housework and while he possessed some cooking skills he had hardly ever bothered. There was no real joy in sitting down to a nice meal on your own. In that respect he envied Phryne. She had never seemed to mind life as a unmarried woman, whereas he had struggled with the notion of waking up in an empty bed and spending his evenings alone in his tiny sitting room in the company of books and a mouse that lived behind his stove. Being fed by Miss Fisher with the most delicious food was still a treat after all this time and yet it wasn't just that. It was a gesture that told him she hadn't taken his nodding-off personally. 

“I'm sure your officers won't mind the leftovers,” Phryne quipped, reaching out and casually brushing her hand over his cheek. Jack's eyes sought out hers, wondering if he should apologize for his series of missteps, but found to his annoyance that his body had registered her touch and was announcing its longing with full force. He cleared his dry throat. 

“You are probably right,” he agreed weakly. “How is your cousin?”

“Better, according to Aunt P...” 

While she told him all about the medical emergency in the Stanley's  house  with Arthur running a light fever that had disappeared overnight, Jack kept considering the pastries before pulling the cloths back over the basket. He was hungry for other things  now,  but the sober part of his mind  pointed out clearly that he couldn't have them. Not here, not now! He had allowed himself once to lose his head within his office and even though it had been even more mind blowing than in his dreams, he had sworn himself that it wouldn't happen again. He was a police officer, for God's sake! He flinched when her  fingers touched his shoulders,  Phryne  having suddenly appeared behind him. 

“Where were you off to?” she asked, warm air brushing his neck as her hands gently rubbed his tense muscles. Jack suppressed a groan, instead peeling her hands off himself in fear of losing his mind and licked his dry lips. 

“Nowhere interesting, Miss Fisher,” he lied, retrieving her from his back and gently guiding her to her place at the edge of the desk. But she wasn't going to give up this easily. 

Even though Phryne would have never admitted it, she was somewhat confused. When she had finally managed to calm down Aunt P and return to the bedroom and what she hoped was a Jack bar any clothes, she had indeed found him naked on the bed – fast asleep. She hadn't had the heart to wake him, considering that his week had been long and the last night near sleepless. Yet her desire had almost gotten the better of her as she'd watched his slumber with a warm feeling in her chest and so a retreat to the other end of the bed had been the final option to not disturb his sleep. But waking up alone this morning, despite his desk being all but empty was an even stranger occurance than his retreat in the last two nights and now he refused her peace offering and her nearness. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was retreating, hiding. And Jack keeping secrets wasn't ever a good sign. She made a firm note to have a serious talk with him as soon as she was able to share a room with him without feeling as if her body was going to catch on fire. 

The Inspector had currently no idea about his wife's worries. He was busily trying to keep his own desires in check and  think up something to manoeuvre Phryne out of his office before he lost the battle. Nothing came to mind, especially not when she smiled at him cheekily. 

“You're shirt is crooked, Inspector,” she pointed out. 

His hand flew up, attempting to  straighten the fabric before she had a chance to. He truly didn't think he could currently bear her touching his clothes. But his effort was in vain. 

“Allow me,” Phryne purred, leaning in and flooding his senses with the smell of her perfume and the warmth radiating from her neck. Instead of just fixing his collar however, her fingers lingered. Jack felt his breath hitch, as they slowly trailed over the front of his shirt, down to the edge of his vest. 

He watched her pulse beat underneath the porcelain skin of her neck, fighting down the overwhelming urge to brush his lips over it. There were people right outside his door ,  he desperatelz reminded himself Officers looking up to him! His body didn't care in the slightest. 

“Phryne, please,” he tried, his voice just a hoarse croak. His wife retreated somewhat, her pupils huge, despite the bright daylight. 

“There, all straight,” she said, for good measure, taking her hands from him. Jack breathed a sigh of relief while he mourned the absence of her fingers. 

“Are you intending to come home for lunch?” she asked sweetly, while getting to her feet. Her eyes promised him many things to come and Jack couldn't help but smile. 

“Save the occurance of somebody dropping dead, I believe that can be arranged.“ 

“You better make sure nobody drops dead then,” Phryne whispered, pulling him into a kiss. “I'd hate to postpone this meal any longer.” 

Jack almost lost it then and there, but thankfully she twirled out of his arms without giving him a chance to succumb to his wants, just when a knock sounded. The Inspector had to clear his throat before he managed to call the officer in.

“The telephone for you, Inspector,” Jones explained before retreating again. The Constable was smart enough not to interrupt any more than absolutely necessary when his superior was alone with his wife. And just as a safety measure knocking loudly and waiting until he was invited. 

Phryne  by now had almost reached the door  but hovered for a moment longer than necessary. Jack grinned at her  thinly  veiled curiosity while he picked up the telephone. He listened, still smiling at her, then his face fell. 

“Jane. Jane, calm down. What happened?” 

Phryne was back by his side a moment later, watching the creases on the Inspector's face deepen in breathless silence. After what seemed an eternity of quiet listening the Inspector promised to come as fast as possible and rang off. He was already fishing for his coat before Phryne had a chance to open her mouth.

“She's all right. But I fear we might have to postpone our lunch after all.” 

X

Hugh Collins woke up to the sweet sound of his son crying downstairs. He sighed, desperately glad to be on a late shift today. It had been a rather short night, even though there hadn't been too much of the bone-chilling screaming  from the night before. Dorothy seemed determined to be the perfect mother, pampering little Thomas before he had a chance to be lacking anything worthy of crying about. Yet, he had whined along all through the long hours. Hugh, unable to sleep without Dottie in his arms had offered several times to give her a break, but she had shooed him back to bed with a tense smile and the reassurance that she was perfectly fine. He didn't like it, didn't like it at all. Now he was traipsing downstairs with bare feet, yawning broadly and finding both his wife and his son on the sofa, her rocking him desperately. 

“Please,” she begged, completely oblivious to their audience. “Please be quiet.” 

“Give him to me,” Hugh offered, watching her flinch. 

“I'm fine,” she tried but looked up to realise that he wasn't going to argue this. Hesitantly she handed the bub over. 

“I'll make you some breakfast,” she mumbled, scurrying away into the kitchen. 

Hugh tenderly looked at his son, who didn't pause for breath or to consider the change of arms.

“You know, you'd do better to stop screaming at her. She's a lovely woman, your mother,” he said with a smile, rocking the little boy on his arms. Thomas seemed little convinced and just continued. Hugh slowly walked up and down the sitting room, remembering a goodnight song his mother had always sung to him. Little by little the boy calmed down and after a few minutes the crying turned into a tiny gurgling. Hugh tenderly grinned down and found a pair of curious eyes looking back up at him. Then the baby smiled a toothless smile. 

“Little Tommy,” he coed, rocking the baby who seemed to enjoy his attention. Turning, the Constable realised that Dottie was leaning in the door frame leading to the kitchen, her face unreadable. 

“He stopped crying,” she said.

“Yes, and look how lovely our son is, when he isn't all red and crinkly,” Hugh answered, too enthralled in his son's first smile to notice that her comment had sounded like an accusation. Dot stepped closer, hesitantly having a closer look at the lovely couple standing in the middle of the sitting room. It was hard to not feel warm and fuzzy at the sight of Hugh in his pyjamas, holding his little boy with the absolute pride of a new father. Yet, she was too envious and exhausted to truly enjoy it. Thomas seemed absolutely determined to love everybody but her. She couldn't figure out just what she was doing wrong. 

“How do you feel about me asking Mr. Butler to look after him for an hour or two, Dottie? I have to go to work soon.” 

“Why?” she asked, her eyes big as she was shaken from dark thoughts. “I am going to be here.” 

“You haven't slept at all, Dottie,” Hugh protested, feeling that he was losing ground fast. 

“I'll have you know, Hugh Collins, that I am perfectly capable of taking care of my son.” 

As if to prove it, she took Thomas from his father's arms and carried him upstairs to his crib. She only made it half-way before the little boy returned to crying, but she kept walking  whith  angry tears bur ning in her eyes. 

X

Phryne was already running up the stairs, while Jack was still turning of f the motor of the police car.  He chased after her, taking two steps at a time. His coat fluttered in the cool morning wind. It was a grey day, all spring forgotten, but neither of the Detectives currently cared. Jack reached his wife in the hall, where she halted, is if not certain if she wanted to carry on. 

„Come,” he said, extending his hand as if it was the most normal gesture for a police officer attending a crime scene. His wife looked at him stunned for a moment before she accepted. They both knew that his rush stemmed from being a father more than a policeman, and Phryne felt her heart ache with the familiar feeling of desperate love for him, while they rushed up the stairs together. 

There weren't many people left in the red salon where the Debutantes had been supposed to freshen up on their slow waltz this morning. They were nowhere to be seen, save one, at this point in time. But the room was far from empty. Madame Claudine stood leaning against the wall, the colour of her skin almost the same as the whitewash behind her. In the far corner Julian Riley was attempting his hardest to calm down the piano player who had broken down in tears. And then there was Jane. Jane who was sitting on a chair, staring at the body as if she was guarding it from any harm. Of course, it was too late for that.

In the middle of the chaos lay the naked man. The Inspector didn't have to look twice to recognize him. He crouched down beside Nicolas Steeger and felt his pulse but Jane had been right. He was dead as a stone.

“Would you all care to leave, please?” he asked, his eyes seeking out Jane, who was quietly whispering with Phryne. “This is a crime scene.” 

The teenager didn't protest, neither did she refuse her foster  mother's hand s when  they ran soothingly over her hair. She just nodded and made her escape. The last to leave was Madame Claudine. She turned in the door as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Silence crept into the room. 

“He came running in during lessons. highly agitated and screaming,” Phryne said quietly, crouching down beside the Inspector. Jack nodded. He had gathered something similar from Jane's frantic explanation on the telephone. „And with a distinct need to return to his state of birth,“ she added with a cheeky smile, letting her eyes sweep over the toned backside of the naked corpse. She was somewhat disappointed at Jack's lack of reaction but her husband was enthralled in thought. A brief inspection of the body was all he could accomplish before the rest of city south arrived, but he had his suspicions. 

“She also described him seizing,” he murmured. 

“Poison?” Phryne asked, dropping the still warm but lifeless hand back onto the floor. 

“It could be any illness of the brain,” the Inspector answered while taking his hat off and lowering his head to almost the floor in an effort to get a better view of the deceased's face. “Anything that could cause hallucinations and arousal.” 

Phryne swallowed down a cheeky comment and instead followed Jack's attempts  to inspect Steeger's  wide open eyes with a faint smile. She knew exactly what he was looking for. 

“The dilated pupils however do bring something to mind,” he stated calmly, retrieving his hat from the floor and dusting off his coat, before stretching out his hand to help her up. 


	9. Barynya

The  pupils were huddled in the small sitting room, where Madame Germain usually entertained her more important clients. Inspector Robinson took  only seconds to decipher who of them he wanted to speak to and who he 'd rather not. There were twelve of them in total, all around Jane's age. One particularly pretty girl was staring stoically at her hands, her dark braids falling into her face. Two others, their hair coloured in different shades of blonde, sat in the corner whispering. One of them had a blush covering her cheeks, the other seemed to currently suppress a giggle. It was a fair guess that they were more preoccupied with having seen the first nude man in their young, overprotected lives than with said man cooling on the floor two rooms over. The rest seemed to be in various states between shock and excitement. 

Jane looked up when the Detectives entered. There were tears shining in her eyes and Jack longed to hug her tightly and take her home. But he was on duty. It took him a moment to shake off those thoughts and register the two people she was framed by. The one was Melody, who was busily chattering at her in a sincere, tense tone, the other one the boy he had noticed yesterday. He sat, mirroring Jane's quietude, but his hand lying on hers. Jane didn't seem to notice this very inappropriate gesture. However, when her parents entered, her hand withdrew, gently slipping out of the  boy's grasp, betraying that she was far from oblivious. The Inspector frowned briefly, glancing at Phryne who was just sweeping into the room behind him. If she had noticed, she wasn't showing it. 

“Is it true?” the brunette girl asked, before he had time to introduce himself. “Is he dead?” 

Jack twisted his hat in his hands.

“Yes, Mr. Steeger has passed away. I assume you all have seen what happened?” 

“I was just powdering my nose,” another girl called in. Nervous giggles answered her. 

“Anyone beside Miss Newchester?” Jack asked, not without sarcasm, feeling Phryne's eyes borrow into his profile. She didn't like him being sarcastic at young people, who hadn't yet developed the appropriate sense to appreciate it. 

“We all saw it,” one of the blondes, who Jack remembered darkly to have been introduced to him as 'Penny' during their game of hide and seek, explained. “He was screaming and tearing at his clothes. I thought he was possessed.” 

She gave a light shudder for dramatic effect. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jack noticed one of the boys crossing himself.

“He shook me,” another of the young men called in, “really hard.” 

“He was tearing his hair out. I saw it. And his eyes were glowing.” 

The voices rose as everybody decided to join into telling the story and Jack felt his temper slip. He felt tired and really not in the mood for the ghost stories of those kids. A moment later he heard clapping beside him. The voices calmed down.

“All right, so you all remember something. That's very helpful. The Inspector and I will talk to all of you, one by one, so you can get it off your chest. And I would like to start with Jane.” 

Phryne waved at her daughter, who reluctantly rose, throwing Jack a triumphant look. He couldn't suppress a smile as he followed his two women out of the room. A minute later the Robinson Family sat around a large wooden table in something resembling a small kitchen.

“What happened?” Phryne asked her daughter, who had her eyes glued to the table top. It took a moment for Jane to assemble her thoughts. 

“Miss McGreen was having us dancing the slow waltz. There was nothing unusual, save Louis looking a little confused because Agnes had left him standing in the middle of the dance to run to the lavatory with an urgent call of nature...” She smiled briefly. “And then there was screaming in the hall. The door crashed open and in stormed Mr. Steeger. He looked... all different. His hair was a mess, he had torn off most of his clothes already and was well on the way to ridding himself off his pants...” 

The Detectives glanced at each other. They had stumbled over the trail of torn clothes on arrival.

“I understand,” Jack cut off his daughters explicit detailing of Nicolas Steeger's undressing ritual. 

“What happened next?” 

“Vicky slipped on the piano and messed up the waltz, he screamed at her. Just nonsensical things. Ran around in circles holding his head. The girls were screeching. Miss McGreen and Madame tried to calm him down, but he wouldn't be calmed and then Ronald decided to be a hero and ended up being thrown against a wall.” 

Phryne smiled at her daughter's voice  betraying some amuse ment at the memory, before she turned serious again. 

“A moment later he dropped to the floor, shaking violently. And then he didn't move anymore at all.” 

Now tears again were glittering in Jane's eyes and this time Jack didn't hold back. He took her hand in both of his, wrapping his fingers around hers.

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” he said, the only thing that came to mind. “But it's important you tell us everything you know.” 

Jane shook her head slightly as if trying to shrug off his sympathy, but her hand entwined with his nevertheless.

“Mrs. Steeger arrived shortly after he died. She was very upset and Miss Green took her outside to have a glass of water. Then I snuck out to call you from Madame's office.” 

Jane trailed off, obviously having finished with her report. For the first time in several minutes she looked at her parents.

“Was he murdered?” 

Phryne chewed on her lip before answering.

“We aren't certain yet, Jane. It's too early to be sure. But it's possible.” 

“I think he was having some problems with Madame Claudine. They acted very tense the other night,” Jane stated, before either of the Detectives had a chance to ask. “That's what you would like to know isn't it? Who had a motive?” 

A knock disturbed the conversation.

“The Coroner is there now, Sir,” Constable Jones announced. “And Collins also arrived.” 

Jack nodded at this.

“Is there anything else you would like to tell us?” he asked his daughter. Jane pondered this for a moment. 

“I think his wife was also a little annoyed with him, but I have no idea why.” 

“I have a thought there. But we'll talk to her,” Phryne promised.

“But she was really upset when he died,” Jane defended the teacher. 

Her mother smiled thinly at the displayed passion in her voice.

“Constable Jones, would you please be so kind as to bring my daughter home,” the Inspector asked.” 

“Certainly, Sir.” 

“I don't need to go home...” Jane protested, but found herself confronted with the full force of two worried parents. 

“Thank you, love. You were very helpful but now I want you to get some rest. We are going to take care of it,” Phryne said, gently stroking the girl's hair, while Jack hesitantly released her hand. 

“But you'll tell me what you find out?” Jane asked, reluctantly getting to her feet. 

“Of course,” her foster mother grinned to the annoyance of the Inspector. “In detail. If you go home now. Have Mr. Butler make you a cup of cocao.” 

Jane and the Constable disappeared together, leaving the Detectives behind with the gentle dripping of a tap as the only noise for a long moment.

“I detail?” the Inspector finally echoed. “You don't actually intend to inform our adolescent daughter of the process in a murder investigation?” 

“Why not?” Phryne asked, getting to her feet and straightening her hat. “She witnessed him die after all. Anything else can really be only improvement.” 

Jack swallowed down the curse lying on his tongue.

“Now, Jack, I assume you aren't particularly fond of talking to the debutantes?” Mrs. Robinson continued. “So how about you have a little chat with the mourning widow while I listen to some more ghost stories?” 

Without waiting for his answer, she swept out the door, her cloud of perfume staying behind,  wafting around a speechless Inspector. After a moment he picked up his hat and followed her, equally relieved and bewildered that she had once again completely seen through him. 

X

A light drizzle was falling on the shivering silhouette on the balcony. Claudine Germain pulled her shawl tighter around her skinny frame, ignoring the nasty weather, while she dragged feverishly on her cigarette. She almost suffocated when a voice sounded behind her.

“Madame?” 

The friendly face, usually covered in wrinkles from a life of laughter, now showed a worried frown. “The police would like to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Mia.” 

The elderly dancing teacher nodded, leaving her employer behind with the wind and the muffled noises drifting up from the street below. Claudine Germain hadn't cried in many years and she was not about to start now. But the slight shivering of her shoulder might not have been  merely from the cold. 

X

She made for a beautiful widow.  It took  Jack Robinson a moment to come to terms with this bizarre thought.  Nevertheless it was the truth . In his time as a police officer the Inspector had spoken to countless next-of-kins, yet this one was special. Where tears turned most women – and men for that matter - into a sobbing mess with swollen eyes and snot hanging from their noses, Camila Steeger's pain was exquisitely displayed on her features, avoiding any of the unbecoming side effects. She was paler than she had been yesterday, her eyes bigger and more soulful. There was no doubt about her sadness, yet it suited her. Jack almost felt compelled to comfort her. 

In a contrasting emotion, he also found his  look terribly and improperly drawn to her decolletage. The reason for this was mostly that the dress she had worn yesterday, attractive as it had been, paled in comparison to today's choice. Jack felt a thin sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead as he tried his hardest to keep his eyes glued to her  tear-streamed face. He silently cursed Phryne and her games  while listening to Mrs. Steeger's recount of events. There would be no time for lunch and with Jane at home it  might be too dangerous to even try. But Jack really needed to find some relief soon,  he realised. I t was impossible for his body to react this way  during questioning  a widow. He sighed, realizing that his interview partner had finished. 

“Are you feeling all right, Inspector?” she asked. 

“Perfectly,” he lied. “It is rather warm in here.” 

“Mia tends to overheat the rooms,” Camila explained. “A silly habit of hers. I believe she is scared I would catch cold.” 

She gave a tiny laugh. Jack nodded, resisting the urge to open his tie and staring for a moment blankly at his notebook, accidentally glancing at the half-exposed leg of his opposite.

“Mrs. Steeger, what has your husband had for breakfast today?” 

A frown darkened the beautiful features.

“The usual I believe. His habit was to take a cup of tea and some toast before he left for the school every morning. Wy are you...? Inspector, are you implying that someone might have killed him?” 

The Inspector cleared his hot throat.

“It appears this way at the moment. I would like to send some men to your house to collect any food that might have been tempered with. Does your husband have any history of illness, Mrs. Steeger? Or take any medications?” 

The dancer shook her head slowly, trying to take the information in.

“That makes an outside influence more likely, I fear. But we can't say anything before his body has been examined,” the Inspector explained. The expression in her dark eyes made him thoroughly wish he had chosen the debutantes. 

X

Meanwhile Phryne really wished she had chosen Mrs. Steeger. There had been little to be found out in the interview with the two giggly blonde girls, who had been insisting to be questioned together, other than why exactly Riya was worried she might drive a pencil through Amelie Blair's heart, should she ever attempt to paint her. She was just as silly and annoying as she had been described and her friend, Penny Rockman wasn't in the slightest bit better. They had spent five minutes explaining in excited detail the nakedness of their former teacher, while in turn blushing and giggling. Phryne had had all but enough by the time she finally gave up on getting any valid information from the girls. Next up was Louis Rockman, who she knew was Penny's twin brother. He also was not the brightest bulb in the box, as the Lady-Detective quickly established, even though he found the violent death of Steeger more interesting than his state of undress. Ronald C. Weston, a young man from a terribly good family and sadly exactly what you would expect from such a breeding, was the opposite. He described what had happened with complete detachment and Mrs. Robinson couldn't shake the question if he had also spent his childhood burning ants with a magnifying glass. Agnes and Melody had little to say and lost their train of thoughts several times over, instead  raving about  the wonderful dancer Nicolas Steeger had been with tears in their eyes. Both girls had obviously had a bit of a crush on the man and Phryne couldn't exactly blame them, but it was of little help. Andrew Peterson told her in detail about his heroic act of being beaten up by the deceased and even showed her his bruises, which were rather faint and really not all that interesting. 

The Lady Detective decided to take a break and have a glass of water before she'd continued with the remaining four. In the kitchen she bumped into the Inspector who had had a similar idea.

„How is the widow?” she asked, stepping behind him. 

“Upset,” the Inspector answered calmly, hiding his surprise. “As was to be expected.” 

He handed her his glass wordlessly and turned to pour himself another.

“How is your horde of adolescents?”

“Not much help. As was to be expected.” 

She smiled, resisting the urge to kiss him as he leaned tall and handsome against the kitchen counter, grinning at her. Her resolve was shaken somewhat by watching him drain his glass, exposing what she knew to be his very sensitive neck to her. Her grip on her own glass tightened.

“Have you talked to Madame Germain yet?” she asked instead of succumbing to her needs. 

“Collins is currently getting statements from all the staff, but I will head up myself in a minute.”

Phryne nodded, realising that she still hadn't taken a single sip from her glass and that Jack seemed to be very aware of that  little fact . Hastily she brought her lips to the clear liquid. She would not think anymore about how much she longed  to touch him . They had a murder to solve. In the very same moment Julian Riley stepped through the door, distracting her at least somewhat. 

“Mrs. Robinson. Inspector,” he nodded. “I fear Vicky... Miss Adams is taking Mr. Steeger's death very badly. Would you mind if I brought her home?” 

“Has she spoken to the Constable yet?” Jack asked the young man, who seemed thoroughly shaken by the events himself. 

“Yes, we both have been questioned. He was very thorough but recounting the events was obviously very upsetting to Victoria. She won't stop crying.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“Then by all means bring the lady home, Mr. Riley. But I want both of you to come down to the station by tomorrow.” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

The young dancer left, both Detectives staring after him.

“Well that leaves me with only two witnesses,” Jack said, inspecting his watch. Maybe, if they'd hurry they could have a chance to get to their lunch date after all. His body tingled in approval. 

“Four for me,” Phryne said nonchalantly, placing her glass with the red lipstick marks onto the counter. “But then I believe Madame Claudine might be a much bigger challenge.” 

“What makes you say that?” Jack heard himself say, thinking about the cool, ethereal exterior or the dancing teacher. 

“She reminds me of a lioness,” Phryne said, turning to the door. “Very beautiful, but also thoroughly

dangerous if you threaten what is hers.” 

“I'll make sure I'll watch myself,” Jack answered, grinning. Phryne threw a last red-lipped smile back over her shoulder and disappeared. 

“Off to the pit of the lioness then,” the Inspector mumbled to himself, straightening his tie. He was quite aware that the by far most dangerous woman in his life, had just left the room. 


	10. Bolero

The 'Lioness Pit' turned out to be a small, light office directly underneath the roof. In summer it must have been a nightmare up here, but now, in spring it had a beautiful view over the adjacent Botanic Gardens. The weather however left little joy in the panorama with thick lines of rain splashing against the French door leading out to a tiny balcony. Madame Germain sat behind her desk, her slim fingers carefully crossed on the surface as if fending off demons with her gesture. It was hard to say if she was capable of being pale, but her skin looked almost transparent today, as if she was about to disappear into thin air. She also seemed to be deep in thought, when the policeman entered. He knocked against the open door. 

“I have some questions I'd like to ask, Madame,” he said. A thin, professional smile greeted him. 

“Of course, Inspector. Please take a seat.” 

For a long moment the silence was only interrupted by the murmur of the rain outside.

“It's terrible,” the woman finally said. “I might have to close my school after this incident.” 

The Inspector leaned back in his chair , slightly annoyed on her focus on the business rather than her dead employer. 

“Surely he can be replaced?” he asked, lurking for her reaction. The pair of eyes staring at him for a long moment surprised him. They were a dark shade of something that was possibly blue, but in this light they looked almost violet. 

“I doubt a man like Nicolas Steeger is ever replaceable,” Madame Claudine stated firmly. “He had a unique talent for dance; an aura that can't be resembled: a passion I have hardly ever seen in any dancer across the world.” 

Jack generally despised such fanciful nonsense, but the way in which it was calmly and factually uttered, left him nothing to say. “But, Inspector, I have lost a friend today as well. And nevertheless you will forgive me that I also think of my life's work. Twelve children have witnessed the scene and the scandal will not be contained. I am ruined.” 

Madame Germain leaned back, calmly shoving a cigarette into a long, fragile holder as if she had just discussed the weather outside rather than the potential crumbling of her business. The Inspector took a deep breath, wondering if she was being melodramatic or merely realistic. It was hard to recover from murder for any business but certainly for one that depended  much on rich  families sending their entitled children for their education. 

“How long has Mr. Steeger worked with you?” he asked into the silence, reaching out and helping Madame to light her cigarette, a motion which was troubled by her trembling fingers. She blew a few circles of blue smoke into the air before answering. 

“About seven years. We had met in Argentinia on one of my travels. I saw him dancing in a milonga in Buenos Aires. Needless to say that I was instantly enthralled by his talent and I believe it was that night that I fell in love with tango...” Claudine abruptly stopped, a glazed look to her eyes. “I had to leave only a few days later, but we exchanged the occasional letter and then someday he stood at my door, looking for me. To say I was surprised would have been an understatement.” 

She smiled, the first genuine smile the Inspector recalled seeing in the cool dancer.

“So you employed him?” 

“Of course I did. I had told him about my establishment, but ever having a teacher of his quality was just a pretentious dream up to that moment.” 

Jack nodded, wondering if a love for dancing was really all this woman had shared with Nicolas Steeger.

“And his wife?” he asked. To his disappointment, Madame Germain didn't even flinch at the question. 

“Also very talented, even though I don't believe quite as much as her husband. But what she lacks in passion she certainly makes up for in technique. Nicolas was never particularly good at sticking to rules.” 

She laughed, brushing  off her cigarette in an ashtray  of heavy marble. 

“The most astonishing of people hardly ever are.”

The words had slipped over Jack's lips before he could stop himself. An almost white eyebrow was raised at him, while the red mouth underneath took another drag of the cigarette.

“Someone in your acquaintance, Inspector?” Claudine asked. The Inspector tried to ignore the faint blush spreading over his ears and managed a smile. 

“Just a general observation,” he said smoothly, moving on. “Have you ever witnessed Mr. Steeger to take any form of medicine? Drugs maybe?” 

Again Madame Claudine just laughed her bright laugh that seemed to be as fragile as her pale face.

“No, Inspector. The only drug Nicolas consumed was tango.” 

Her eyes seemed to turn a shade darker.

“Nicolas lived on the edge between passion and madness, Inspector. He didn't need the rush of opium or cocaine. He had tango. Trust me, it is a very dangerous drug to get addicted to and he was never quite satisfied.” 

Jack cleared his throat, her voice was vibrating some nerves in his stomach, causing his heart to flutter with excitement. He decided to blame his lack of sleep and the thwarted attempts in the bedroom for his agitation.

“Do you see any reason why someone would want to kill him?” the Inspector asked the lady instead of answering. She didn't seem surprised. 

“Plenty,” she said, finally rubbing out her cigarette. “A man like Nicolas is unable to not enthrall women, Inspector.“

„He was unfaithful to his wife?” Jack asked, somewhat surprised. He thought briefly of Camila Steeger. That a man could cheat on her, seemed a somewhat strange revelation.

“I don't know how far he went, but I doubt it went past flirtation,” Madame Germain spoke into his thoughts. I am not even certain if he meant that. He sometimes appeared to me like a child in a candy store – completely oblivious to the dangers of playing with the fire. But you can imagine that there were plenty of husbands disliking him, broken hearted admirers and his wife... well, she didn't always enjoy watching on.” 

She lit another cigarette, contemplating her answer.

“And then of course, there were rivals who had rather seen him dead than alive. If you intend to find the single person who went ahead with a wish shared by many, Inspector, I rather hope you have brought a very long breath.” 

X

The rain had picked up by the time the two Detectives left the school behind. Surrounded by a thick curtain of water, Inspector Robinson steered the vehicle through the quiet streets.

“Despite Madame Germain pointing out that there were many people who wanted him dead, I am having a hard time to find anyone truly suspicious.” 

“Surely you don't consider any of the children?” Phryne asked, staring out into the rain smiling. “They are certainly annoying but none of them is a murderer.” 

Jack glanced at her briefly.

“I can't rule them out of the investigation on grounds of being young and silly,“ he said. “But I see little motive.” 

“Two of the girls had a crush on Mr. Steeger. Nothing serious if you ask me. One of the boys, Gianni Tippoci, on the other hand, disliked our victim. Steaming from a Catholic family he considered his dancing sinful. Then again, he is also convinced that a possessive demon killed him.” Phryne rolled her eyes, continuing. “The only one who appeared somewhat odd to me was Mr. Weston. He seemed very detached, cold almost.” 

“He was the only one seeming odd to you?” 

Jack grinned, trying to concentrate on the road, while Phryne's hand casually slipped onto his knee.

“Well, odder than was to be expected. Do you believe Madame Claudine herself could have poisoned her dear old friend?” 

“And ruined her own business?” the Inspector asked. 

“A fair point,” Phryne sighed, shifting to get more comfortable. She wouldn't have admitted it, but the combination of Jack's warm leg underneath her fingertips and the drumming rain on the car windows was almost putting her to sleep. Almost. Her body had not forgotten what it had promised her husband several times over. Nothing, absolutely nothing would be allowed to get in the way this time. 

Her hand trailed up the inside of Jack's thigh, drawing a strained hiss from his throat.

“I believe you might have to show some restraint, Phryne, unless you want me to crash the motorcar,” he said after clearing his throat. Her hand obediently returned to his knee, which was just as much teasing as he could bear at the current point in time. 

“There are very few people who would have had access to anything Mr. Steeger consumed,” Phryne pointed out. “So if he was poisoned with food or drink, it really leaves only the students and employees of the dancing school. Or his wife.” 

“I have been unable to speak to Miss Adams so far, but her grief seems rather overwhelming for a cold-blooded killer,” Jack smiled. “And Miss McGreen appears to be a nice old lady. Hardly the kind of person I would imagine mixing poison into peoples coffee.”

“Nice old lady seem to have been particularly fond of arsenic throughout history,” Phryne grinned. There was silence for a moment as they both pondered this. “What about the mourning widow?” Phryne asked, stifling a yawn. “Lilah has heard her argue with her husband yesterday morning. And Jane mentioned picking up on some tension as well.”

The Inspector shook his head.

“Madame Claudine also hinted at some troubles, but Mrs. Steeger is very upset about her husband's demise. I am having a hard time imagining her poisoning him.” 

The Lady Detective frowned. She had bumped into Camila Steeger on her way down the stairs and the woman hadn't appeared particularly broken up to her. She glanced at Jack, remembering the way he had looked at the woman when being introduced to her.

“You wouldn't happen to be slightly biased there, Inspector?” she asked. 

“What are you referring to, Miss Fisher?” 

“Well, you can't have missed that she is a very sensuous woman,” Phryne pointed out, carefully watching her husband. He smiled, but the faint blush on his cheeks wasn't lost to her sharp eyes. 

“I haven't noticed.” 

“Liar.” 

Phryne moved closer, snuggling her cheek into her husband's shoulder. He was warm and when she lay very still she could just about make out his heartbeat underneath his clothes. Jack didn't protest. While every fibre of his body screamed for release, they would be home in a few minutes and until then he could just enjoy her perfume in his nose and her hair tickling his neck.

X

Welcome silence greeted the Robinsons when they stepped through their front door. They shared a look, congratulating themselves. Maybe they finally had found a moment of peace to sneak away together? But Jane had spotted them from where she was curled up with a book on the love seat.

“Any news?” she asked. Jack hung up his hat and coat, before answering. 

“It's too early to say,” he pointed out, sinking onto the edge of the piano stool. He wouldn't stay long, he promised himself. As much as he loved his foster daughter, as much as he felt sorry for what she'd been through, he needed to be alone with Phryne. 

His wife meanwhile had disappeared, following a delicious smell that wafted over from the kitchen. Mrs. Robinson was just as hopeful for a quiet half hour as her husband, yet she realised that she was also hungry. And she needed to speak to Mr. Butler and see if there was any point in worrying about Jane and the shock she'd had this morning. To her surprise she didn't find him alone. Beside the pot Dot stood, happily and with flushed cheeks, chopping celery.

In a small crib at the other end of the room slept, underneath a lacy canopy that seemed rather odd in the middle of a kitchen, little Tommy Collins, completely oblivious to the hissing and boiling of the soup on the stove.

“Ah, Mrs. Robinson. I thought you might return for lunch. Is the Inspector with you?” Mr. Butler greeted his employer. 

“He-” 

Phryne didn't get a chance to explain Jack's and her plans nor to enquire after Dorothy's decision to help out in the kitchen, as a curse tore her from her thoughts. They turned to where Dot stood, staring at her thumb, blood dripping down her hand and onto the kitchen floor.

“Dot!” Phryne exclaimed, rushing towards her, but Mr. Butler was faster, grabbing a dish towel and wrapping up the deep cut. Big tears ran down Dorothy's face as her friends tried to stop the bleeding. Moments later Thomas started to cry as the excited voices woke him from his slumber. 

“Ma'am, would you mind, please?” Mr. Butler asked, still pressing down on Dot's wound. Phryne took a deep breath as she approached the screaming baby, taking it from it's crib. She was a Lady Detective and regularly looked gunman in the eye. Surely she could deal with a crying child. 

A glance at Dot, who seemed to have lost the plot a little bit at this stage, she decided that it was best to take Thomas back into the parlour. Jane would find joy in soothing him. Rocking Thomas on her arms she crossed the dining room, when she heard the quiet melody.

At the piano sat Jack, right beside him Jane, who watched his fingers slip over the white and black keys with complete attention. Phryne recognised the piece, he had played it for her before.

“You know, Jack, it is raining outside, there is little point in playing 'raindrops' inside as well,” she teased her husband. He didn't stop but smiled at her, realising that she was holding the Collins's baby boy in her arms. 

“I am aware that your current preference lies in south American music, Miss Fisher, but he doesn't seem to mind,” he pointed out. Surprised, Phryne realised that he was right. Thomas had gone back to sleep. For the first time she took a proper look at the tiny human being that had kept her awake for a whole night and thwarted her attempts to get close to Jack. He was rather cute for a baby, she found. Phryne felt her heart warm in her chest and when she looked up, Jack had also noticed it. His smile was so tender that she really couldn't manage to spoil the moment. Jane's grin however lacked none of the cheekiness of her usual appearance and that relieved her mother somewhat. She had taken her first dead body without too much damage to her young soul. 

“He likes the piano,” she said. “So you _have_ to teach me! For everybody's sake!” 

Phryne smiled at her attempt to sway the Inspector in what she suspected was an ongoing argument.

“A very good point. But before you resolve in destroying the peace in this house for good, would you mind bringing Thomas back to the kitchen, please? I'd like to speak to Jack alone for a little while.” 

“About the murder?” Jane asked, obediently taking the child into her arms. 

Her parent's eyes met over her head.

“We need to compare our notes,” Jack agreed with a tiny grin. 

“Plenty of notes,” Phryne nodded, without tearing her eyes from her husband. Jane seemed suspicious, but left all the same. Once both children had disappeared in the dining room, Mrs. Robinson stretched out her hand to Jack, who took it without hesitation. 

“Shall we compare our notes upstairs, Inspector?” she asked, her voice a sultry, amused whisper. His eyes glittered darkly. 

“As you wish, Miss Fisher.” 

They barely reached the bottom of the stairs, when the phone rang.


	11. Schuhplattler

With an angry slide, the Hispano shot around the corner and continued it's crazy speed up the driveway to the Stanley Estate. Gravel sprayed, when Phryne parked the motorcar right in front of the entrance. She had reached the door in seconds but was almost drenched when the elderly housekeeper finally answered. The Hispano wasn't meant to be driven in the rain.

Handing her soaked hat and coat to Mrs. Rupert, she called for her aunt. Prudence Stanley rushed down the stairs a moment later, flustered and upset.

“Aunt P, what is going on? Is he all right?” 

“I'm terribly sorry to call you away from business, Phryne, but I fear the worst!” 

Mrs. Robinson was already halfway up the stairs, while her aunt was still telling her how Arthur's fever had returned, this time much higher.

“The Doctor is on his way, but his motorcar got stuck in this rain,” Mrs. Stanley continued, as they arrived at the door to Arthur's room. Phryne's cousin was lying in bed, the duvet dragged up to his chin. His face lit up when he saw who his visitor was. 

“Cousin Phryne!” 

Mrs. Robinson smiled, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

“Hello, Arthur! I hear you aren't well.” 

“I'm sick,” he agreed. Phryne let her eyes sweep over the room, the stuffed animals and pictures. Her eyes got caught by the thermometer, lying on the night stand beside a cup of hot tea. Then she stretched out her hand and felt Arthur's head. 

“Aunt P, maybe you should try and see if the doctor has come unstuck yet,” she said casually. After her Aunt had bustled away in deep worry, she turned back to her cousin. 

“Now Arthur, that was a very cruel trick you played!” 

Her cousin looked somewhat dumbstruck by having been discovered and played with his duvet.

“I'm sick,” he said stubbornly. 

“You know, your mother is terribly worried about you.” 

“I'm too sick to play piano!” 

Phryne had a hard time to contain her laughter. Her aunt had discovered a little while ago that her son had a certain talent for the instrument and had hired Miss Biggets, a very strict teacher, to help him achieve great skills in what she hoped was at least some accomplishment. Obviously Arthur hadn't particularly enjoyed the lessons.

“You know what? I'll have a word with her.” 

“Promise?” he asked, half hidden under his blanket. 

“I promise,” Phryne said, kissing her cousin on the forehead and leaving a bright red lipstick mark. 

“But only if you promise to_ drink_ your tea.” 

He grinned and she slowly walked downstairs.

“I believe his fever has dropped,” she said, ignoring that Aunt P was currently yelling at someone who was unable to retrieve the Doctor for her. Mrs. Stanley turned. 

“Are you certain?” 

Phryne smiled.

“I believe if you take his temperature again, you will find I am right,” she said. 

“This is a very strange illness,” Prudence said, hanging up the phone without any apology. “It just comes and goes. Most inconvenient. And he seems fine otherwise, but the fever is very worrying.” 

“You know, Aunt P, Mac tells me that there is certain stressful situations that can cause a fever without any other symptoms.” 

Mrs. Stanley huffed.

“Your friend seems to know a lot of fanciful nonsense.” 

“It's called Science, Aunt P,” Phryne said, donning her hat. “But I'm sure it is worth a try to cut out the more stressful components of his days for a while and see if the fever returns. For example his piano lessons?” 

Mrs. Stanley opened her mouth to protest but realised that nobody was listening anymore. Phryne Robinson had already disappeared back into the rain.

X

Jack meanwhile tried to concentrate on his notebook. Surely he could at least attempt to get some sense into his murder case while he was waiting for Phryne. But a visit to her seriously ill cousin would take some time and reason told him that he also needed to return to the Station.

His absence didn't set a good example to his men, especially in the middle of a murder case. Yet, there was so little to accomplish at this point in time.

He slammed the small booklet shut and rose to his feet, pacing between the aquamarine coloured walls of his bedroom. Had he only searched for the murderer yesterday, he might have been able to prevent Nicolas Steeger's demise! There was no doubt on the Inspector's mind, that the dancer had been poisoned with deadly nightshade, yet Phryne was right: How could he chase down a murderer from having removed a branch from a park? And neither could he prove at this stage that Nicolas Steeger had even been murdered.

He would have to wait for the Coroner's report and the results from Steeger's breakfast to find out more. Jack's foot got caught in something. With some irritation he fished the piece of fabric from the floor. It was a camisole, half hidden under the bed. His fingers unconsciously wove through the silky fabric. After a moment of staring at Phryne's forgotten undergarment, Jack took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed.

There was another reason than a lack of any leads that kept him from returning to City South. His body was so tense that he felt like he was going to explode. And his annoyance with this state was almost as high. Jack certainly couldn't be offended by Arthur's sudden illness, yet currently he felt the urge to yell at the world in general. Frustrated, the Inspector let himself fall backwards into the soft pillows, silently urging Phryne to return home. He simply couldn't bear this any longer.

X

The dark silhouette leaned against the tree trunk, his hat pulled deep into his face. Rain was dripping from the rim, running down his coat in little streams. But the pair of blue eyes stared into the distance, where the grey curtain of water finally parted to spit the idea of a woman onto the grass. She walked towards him, clutching her own coat around her waist.

“You're soaked,” he said, stretching out his hands for her. 

“So are you,” she replied grinning, wrapping her arms around him. Under the tree that had long since given up on trying to keep the couple dry, they shared a sweet, breathless kiss. 

“At least nobody will see us today,” the man said, letting his eyes sweep over the silent park without releasing his lover. “This charade has to end soon. It's unbearable.” 

She gently stroked his cheek.

“My poor darling.” 

His fingers curled through her wet locks, as he ignored her sarcasm.

“Are you all right? I died a thousand deaths.” 

“Right as rain,” she quipped, leaning up to kiss him again. He didn't resist. 

“Please tell me everything will be fine,” he whispered into her hot mouth, leaning his forehead against hers. Water dripped from their joined faces. 

She didn't answer, but her arms told him all he needed to know.

X

The stairs creaked quietly underneath her heels. Phryne halted for a moment, listening to the house. But Jane's laughter still sounded from the kitchen, mixed with the clattering of pots. She would not let any silly floorboard stop her, the Lady Detective decided as she quietly snuck through the hall and pulled her bedroom door shut behind herself. The police motorcar was still parked outside, which meant that Jack was in the house somewhere. And if she knew him at all, he was probably pretending to work in his bedroom while waiting feverishly for her return.

Phryne smiled while she peeled the wet blouse from herself and towelled off her hair. Surprising an unsuspecting Jack was certainly one upside of having to sneak into her own house in aim for half an hour of peace and quiet. Plenty of possibilities for this surprise had assembled in her head on her way home, while she had prayed that for once the man in Jack would win over the policeman. Whistling a little tune she tied up her black morning gown and stepped barefoot into the hall to make her way to the Inspector's bedroom. The door handle gave way soundlessly and spying into the room she found something quite similar to what she had gathered. Jack without an inch of clothes on, just covered by a sheet that left little to the imagination, was, however, exceeding her expectation. For a brief moment his relaxed position and closed eyes deceived her into believing that he had fallen asleep yet again. Then she realised that quite the opposite was true. Phryne stopped cold, unsure what to do. He hadn't noticed her, which, together with his laboured breathing told her in clear terms just how far off he was. It seemed rude to interrupt him, yet leaving was definitely not an option! So she just stood in stunned fascination.

She had suspected that he was probably satisfying himself occasionally. Knowing how much passion was hidden underneath his suits, Phryne guessed that he would have been bound to lose his mind in the years his crumbling marriage to Rosie had trapped him in loneliness, had he not found some sort of relieve. Yet despite her remarkable detecting skills she had never found any indication that would've proven her assumption. Now she was staring undeniable evidence in the face. Watching Jack writhe on the bed in lust that was not involving her at all, had a strange effect on Mrs. Robinson. She could feel her toes tingle, her blood rush in her ears, but she was also curious. Moving closer, she watched the tips of his fingers finding the perfect rhythm, his chest heave, faint sweat glistening on his forehead. It was wondrous and intimate and a little forbidden. Needless to say that she loved every moment.

A groan escaped the Inspector's throat and her stomach did a flip. He was nearing the edge, she could tell and her boldness grew. So maybe it was rude, but he  _was_ her husband and she hadn't managed to find time alone with him for days. That and she really couldn't resist touching him any longer. Gently, she sank down on the bed beside him, fully intending to continue where Dot's interruption had stopped her yesterday. But a moment later Jack's eyes snapped open. 

“Phryne!?” 

His gasp lay somewhere between confused and horrified, yet he was too far gone. Phryne watched his eyes squeeze shut, a strangled cry slipping over his lips. It took a long moment until he had caught his breath enough to speak.

“I didn't expect you home just yet,” he ground out, while deeply embarrassed retrieving a handkerchief from his night stand. 

“Obviously,” Phryne quipped, unsure if to be disappointed that she had not gotten a chance to join in. Her amusement turned to annoyance when she realised that he wouldn't meet her eyes. 

Guilt was raging through Jack's veins. It wasn't as such that he felt he had no right to do this. He was quite aware that Phryne felt no restrictions of the kind. He had walked in on her twice while she had been amusing herself, the first time excusing himself quickly, the second time receiving an invitation to join her in bed. But right now, while the universe seemed to have put a curse on their love life, it did feel like he was taking something for himself that belonged to her just as much. And the deeply ingrained morals of his past marriage didn't help. He was quite certain that Rosie would have divorced him the very instant she had found him with his hand down his trousers in her absence. He stopped there, looking up to finally look at Phryne. She wasn't Rosie!

That thought almost brought him to tears. He opened his mouth to explain, apologize for his erratic behaviour but was, once again, interrupted by a servant.

“Inspector?!” Mr. Butler's voice sounded from outside. “The Station on the telephone for you. It appears a witness has been waiting for quite some time.” 

“Please tell them I will head there directly,” Jack called, his eyes glued to Phryne who looked a little annoyed at this stage. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, once the Butler had left, touching her arm. 

“Don't mention it,” she smiled, pulling herself to her feet. “I think I might take a bath before I catch myself cold.” 

The Inspector, who had just opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted to accompany him, closed it again.

“That is probably a good idea,” he mumbled, hiding his disappointment. 

Phryne wandered to the door where she turned.

“I do believe Dot has laid out my favourite brush!” 

That was a lie and a bold one at that. Mrs. Robinson had no desire to get splinters into her most sensitive parts and bristles weren't particularly helpful either - she had tried. But watching Jack's heated cheeks flushing a even darker shade of crimson, she smirked to herself. She was certainly not letting him get away without at least having some thoughts to warm him on this chilly afternoon.

X

“And then he said to her 'I am not certain, Miss, if you are aware of your misstep, but this dress is really inappropriate.' and Charly just looked at him and said, 'I am not certain, Sir, if you aware of this, but I really don't care for your opinion.' You should have seen his face!” 

Jane almost spat her cocoa across the tabletop in hysterical giggles. Mr. Butler turned from where he was adding some spices to the chicken soup and laid a finger to his lips. Thomas was still sound asleep in the corner, while Dot had finally succumbed to her friends advice and retreated for some much needed sleep. Jane quickly stifled her laughter, watching the crib for any signs of screaming. But the baby seemed to be in no hurry to wake up. Melody was, however, not particularly inclined to quieten down.

“Mother says she will never get married unless she stops being so stubborn.” 

Jane only smiled. It was nice, she thought. Sitting with Mel and Mr. Butler and Thomas and the rain drumming against the window. It was wonderfully normal after the shock in the morning. Even though it was a shame that Jack hadn't been in the mood to join them.

“Unless she finds someone who approves of her stubbornness,” she pointed out. Mel rolled her eyes. 

“That's very unlikely.” 

“I will never get married unless this man likes any dress I wear,” Jane promised gravely. “And any opinion I express.” 

“Not even Harry?” Mel quipped, her eyes sparkling. A moment later she gasped in pain. Jane glanced briefly at Mr. Butler's back, which to her relief stayed where it was. Tobias bit his tongue in an effort to suppress the grin threatening to spread over his face, while he continued steadily chopping parsley. Melody rubbed her aching shin with an annoyed grimace but changed the subject when she realised that her pouting had no effect on Jane whatsoever. 

“I can't help but think of Mr. Steeger,” she sighed. Her friend nodded, sipping on her cocoa. Over on the stove the soup pot boiled over. 

“Do you really think someone murdered him?” Mel asked after a moment of grim silence. 

Jane shrugged, setting down her cup.

“If Jack and Phryne think so, then he was murdered,” she stated firmly. “They are never wrong.”

“They didn't say though,” Melody pointed out. Jane had to silently admit that she was right. The Detectives hadn't uttered a word about what they suspected. 

“It was really spooky.” Mel shuddered. “Gianni said, he was possessed by a ghost or a demon or something. 

“No such thing as ghosts,” Jane mumbled into her cup. “But it was definitely odd.” 

She couldn't help but think of their find in the park.

“Give me a moment,” she said in sudden resolve, already storming out of the room. It took a little longer than a moment, possibly two minutes, when she returned, cradling in her arms a huge book. The heavy volume slammed onto the kitchen table with such force that Thomas unhappily commented on it with a quiet gurgle. 

“What's that?” Mel asked, already flipping it open. 

“It's a herbal,” Jane explained, her cheeks flushed. “And I'm hoping that it will tell us exactly why Mr. Steeger died.” 


	12. Minuet

Inspector Robinson imagined he could feel his nerves getting close to snapping. In general, crying woman roused his sympathy, but maybe due to his own strained composition, the ongoing sobbing was annoying him.

“He was such a lovely man,” Vicky Adams ground out in watery words. 

“Do you have any thoughts on who might want to harm him, Miss Adams?” the Inspector asked, handing her his handkerchief. The sight of her unfolding the white piece of cloths caused a flashback and Jack's ears to burn in shame. How had he missed Phryne's arrival? The worst about the whole encounter was that, while his body had found some release, the shock had taken any satisfaction out of his climax, resulting in him feeling more frustrated than ever. On top of that the short trip to City South had left him damp and cold. In short, he was miserable. 

Victoria meanwhile shrugged.

“No, everybody liked him,” she said after a long moment, interrupted by more sobbing. “Do you...” Her eyes widened in shock. “Do you believe someone did this to him...?” 

Jack leaned back, trying to ignore a piece of wet collar brushing against his neck.

“We can't say anything for certain before we have the Coroner's report, Miss Adams. Unless you can think of anything else those were all the questions for the time being. Thank you for coming down.” 

A pair of soulful, watery eyes stared at him for a long moment, then the piano-player realised that she had been dismissed. She got up in a strange little motion that reminded Jack of a dance. Maybe your environment did have some effect on you, he wondered as he watched her walk through the door. She had barely disappeared from sight, when Collins head was stuck into the room.

“The telephone, Sir.” 

Jack nodded, waiting until the Constable had pulled the door shut. His heart had sped up, hoping somewhere deep down that it was Phryne, offering her help. While there was incredibly little to do right now, he longed for her proximity. But the female voice greeting him belonged to somebody else.

“Inspector. Riya Santi speaking. I just realised that you didn't take your book.” 

Jack licked his dry lips, trying to come up with a response. He remembered dimly that sometime late and grown bold by a little too much whiskey circulating in his blood, he had decided to read  _ “Faust” _ again. He realised a moment later that she was still talking. 

“I will be in tonight, why don't you just drop by?” 

“I am not certain if I will find time,” Jack pointed out. He really just wished to finish this day with some sanity intact and go home to see Phryne. “I do have a murder case to attend to.” 

“Seven o'clock would suit perfectly. I shall see you then, Inspector.” 

Before he had had a chance to inquire after her hearing abilities, she had hung up. Jack slammed the phone back onto the receiver. Just great! His shirt was still clinging wetly to his back and meanwhile Phryne was sitting in a hot, soapy bath... Jack clenched his fists. He couldn't go down this path right now. 

“Collins?” he called. It took only moments until the Constable appeared in the door. 

“Sir?”

“Have any reports come through yet?” 

“None, Sir. Would you like me to telephone-”

“Leave it, Collins. They are going to take their sweet time, just because you can.” 

He stood, fishing for his coat.

“Get your hat, we are heading to the Botanic Garden.” 

Hugh stared at him for a moment in astonishment.

“But, Sir, it's raining.” 

“Is it? I hadn't noticed.” 

Jack felt sorry for his biting sarcasm the moment it had left his mouth. Collins looked tired and a little worn. Probably normal in a young father, not that he would know. That thought again didn't improve his mood in the slightest.

“You might want to bring that shovel we have sitting in the basement from the tunnel robbery” he prompted the still confused Constable, storming past him. He needed to destroy something and if it was only a toxic shrub. 

X

She had taken her bath, even made good on her promise - though it hadn't involved any brushes. She had also gotten dressed in a new blouse that she believed to pick up on her eyes and donned the sapphire necklace that had been lying somewhat neglected in the back of her jewelry drawer for the last few weeks. She had inquired after Jane and Dot and had been told that both were fine and going on about their respective business. By the time she'd started to sort her lipsticks after shade, Mrs. Robinson had to face the fact that she was bored out of her mind.

“Mr. Butler, I am going out,” she called from the hall, while fishing for a dry hat. This time she had the sense to take an umbrella and wait for the the cab on the porch. She wasn't particularly keen on another wet drive and her destination made any rush unnecessary. 

Cec seemed in the best of moods when he held open the door for her. Bert was his usual grumpy self, yet Phryne couldn't shake the thought that he appeared quietly satisfied.

“You two had a good day?” she inquired, while the motorcar started moving over the cobbles. 

“Very good, Ma'am,” Cec agreed. 

“The rain seems to flood the mice out of their holes and none of them wants to get wet,” Bert added. 

“I'm glad to hear it,” Phryne grinned, leaning back into her seat and letting her thoughts run while they slowly drifted through the rain. 

'Madame Claudine's School for Dancing' lay quietly in the gray afternoon. Mrs. Robinson would find out later that all lessons scheduled for this afternoon had been canceled due to the events of the morning, but right now it caused her curiosity to rise. She thanked the Cabbies and raced up the stairs, spraying up little droplets of water. Inside it was even quieter. At least for the first moments, then a faint argument drifted down the staircase. Phryne followed the angry voices, picking up on their owners halfway up the stairs. She pressed herself against the wall near the corner, trying to find out what the fight was concerning.

“You can't seriously expect this from me. My husband's body is barely cold!” 

“But the world doesn't stop spinning due to his death!” 

“Mine does! I am not going to do it and that is the last word on this!” 

A moment later a door slammed shut and Phryne took a deep breath and a moment to collect herself before wandering around the corner to where Julian Riley still stood, looking annoyed and miserable.

“Mr. Riley, I have been looking for you!” she lied, then dropped her voice to a concerned tone. “Is anything the matter, you look quite upset.” 

“Beside the obvious?” he asked with a wry smile. 

“Well Mr. Steeger's sudden death has shocked all of us,” Phryne said, “but you weren't very close if I gathered your meaning correctly yesterday?” 

A complicated gesture of a slim hand answered her, while they moved their conversation into the blue salon.

“I believe our relationship is... was hard to explain, Mrs. Robinson. He was my mentor, the man who really lit my fire for tango. When he danced, the world was holding it's breath.” 

Phryne smiled as she watched him sort through some vinyls.

“But he was not a particularly nice man, Mrs. Robinson and I dare telling you this, because you will see through my lies, as we have established.”

He smiled a charming smile and extended his hand.

“Care for a dance?” 

Phryne's heart was beating against her ribcage. His aftershave was particularly lovely, she realised, when she readily accepted his offer.

“If it loosens your tongue, I will not deny you,” she quipped, wrapping his arm around him. 

“I believe it is quite lose already, Mrs. Robinson.” 

“Phryne,” she mumbled. She was really getting rather tired of flirting with men while being constantly reminded of her marital state. It wasn't like Jack was ever far from her mind, but she enjoyed being just Miss Fisher occasionally. Her conversation partner smiled, starting to move. It was a slow piece, a dark, melancholic expression of sorrow. For a little while they just indulged in dancing. Then Mr. Riley continued. 

“I will not tell you anything new when I point out that there was also tension. We were rivals.” 

“For his wife?” 

There was a tiny movement that could have been shock, but it passed too quick to be really noticeable.

“Certainly not,” the dancer stated, leading her into an ocho. “Unless you are talking about dancing partners.”

Phryne smiled up into his glittering eyes. They really were a strange shade of blue, almost aquamarine. Her thoughts drifted for a moment to Jack's bedroom and a picture that made her grin.

A bitter little laugh tore her from her thoughts, while she danced a grapevine around Julian.

“And it appears that his death won Steeger this argument,” the young man said. 

Phryne didn't ask, just tilted her head in question, as they continued flowing over the dance floor.

“As your sharp Detective's ears have probably not been able to miss, Mrs. Steeger has no desire to continue dancing with me after her husband's demise.” 

“That seems understandable,” Phryne pointed out carefully. In fact she could not imagine how she would get out of bed, should Jack ever... She wasn't inclined to finish that sentence even in her head. 

“It is,” Julian answered, somewhat distracted by his leg finding his way through hers in an effort to change her direction. Phryne twirled into the next figure without stopping to think about it. Nicolas Steeger had been right, tango was in the blood. “But sadly her completely reasonable decision leaves me with no partner for the Debutante Ball.” 

“That's indeed upsetting. I was looking forward to your demonstration.” 

“It's not only that, Phryne. I fear, it will further damage the image of Madame Claudine's school. Which after this morning is going to be on shaky grounds.” 

Mrs. Robinson's ears pricked at his somber tone. Was there some sort of attachment that she wasn't aware of, she wondered?

“I am quite certain her business will survive this little incident,” she pointed out. A laugh, this time more relaxed, answered her. 

“I believe one needs to be a Detective to call a murder a 'little incident'.” 

“How fortunate that I am one,” she quipped, returning her concentration to the dance for a moment. 

“You seem very worried about Madame Claudine's fate,” she pointed out when he didn't seem inclined to continue their conversation. Again, Julian laughed a soft, deep laugh, his eyes glittering in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. 

“Before you now spin some tale of intimate attachment in your Detective's head, I would like to point out that Madame has been friends with my mother for longer than I can remember.” 

Phryne found that what surprised her the most about this statement was that she didn't consider Madame Claudine old enough to be friends with anyone's mother. Then again, she hadn't thought about her age in the slightest and couldn't actually tell even now as she tried.

“I was a young boy when I took my first dancing lessons. And, Phryne, I won't tell you too much of a secret when I reveal that there is also quite a lot of my family's money riding on the survival of this establishment.” 

“Madame Germain is in financial strife?” Phryne asked, as she wrapped her leg around her partner with the last notes. 

“The recession didn't go unnoticed on her,” Julian said, gently uncurling their bodies and returning his attention to the gramophone. “My parents chose to invest in the school. You will understand my concern about it's future.” 

Phryne nodded.

“Of course.” 

She really did need to return to her intended visit to Madame Germain. Something about her attachment to Steeger seemed odd, considering all she had witnessed and heard from Jack. Now the plot thickened. She excused herself with some polite words from her charming dancing partner, deep in thought and had almost reached the door when his soft voice reached her ear.

“Phryne?” 

There was some pleading in it that caused her to turn in surprise. The handsome, confident man was playing with his fingers in a gesture that reminded her somewhat of a young boy asking for more pocket money.

“I am aware that this is completely inappropriate, but... “ 

Despite herself, her breath caught in her throat, as she waited. His charming smile made the question so much more endearing that she already knew she would be unable to deny him, when he finally asked: “Will you dance with me?”

X

Rain was dripping from the Inspector's hat as he watched Hugh Collins work. Being soaked thoroughly through to the skin had the positive side effect of not being able to get any more wet, he mused. Considering his recent pneumonia though, an experience he had no desire to repeat, he resolved that he would be forced to return home for a change of dry clothes. Maybe he would be able to wrap up the day after this.  _If_ Collins would ever manage to dig his way into the damp, heavy soil. 

“Here, let me,” the Inspector said impatiently, reaching out his hand for the tool. He missed Hugh's displayed annoyance as a gush of water spilled from his hat down his chin. With the frustration of the last days leading his hands, Inspector Robinson drove the heavy shovel into the ground. The shrub trembled, as he jerked the metal back out and re-positioned it. Neither of the officers noticed the man stepping behind them until his voice boomed through the rain: “And what the heck do you think you are doing here?” 


	13. Syrtos

Jack turned, slowly. His face betrayed that he was in no mood to be tempered with by anyone, least of all some nosy bystander. The man behind him was positively gigantic with a face that reminded Jack of a furious puppy dog.

“I'd like to know what you are digging up plants for?” he inquired in no soft tone. “This is a Botanic Garden!” 

Jack fumbled for his batch, shoving it at the man without a word.

“Police?” the man asked. For the first time he appeared to notice the uniform of the still dripping and silent Hugh Collins, but the fact the keepers of the law were digging through the park didn't seem to calm him much. 

“So, what are you doing here?” 

“We are investigating a murder,” Jack said in equally frosty tones. “Now if you would like to step back and let us do our work...” 

A second later the shovel was ripped from his hands. The Inspector felt himself close to an explosion of a very different kind. He spun to where the giant was trembling, it was hard to tell if in anger or cold. Stepping closer Jack became aware of the suit the man was wearing. He was incredibly well dressed for a simple by-stander.

“Sir, just so we are very clear. If you keep insisting on interrupting police business I will have you arrested,” the Inspector growled. His words lost some power by the fact that the man towered over both him and Hugh Collins. 

“Police business? I would like to know what Sanderson thinks about this!” 

Jack started at the drop of his former father-in-law's name.

“I'm quite certain that George will not keep me from whatever is necessary to do my job,” he protested, even though his tone had softened at a suspicion. 

“Even if it involves vandalism?” the man asked. 

“May I ask your name, Sir?” Jack returned, ignoring the question. The man straightened his shoulders, finally remembering his manners and stretching out his hand. 

“Magnus Altman,” he said. 

The Inspector nodded, flinching as his fingers were grasped with the strengths of a vice.

“Detective-Inspector Robinson. I believe we should talk this over in a dry place, Professor.” 

X

“If you'd like to sit down,” the grey haired woman said, offering Mrs. Robinson a seat. 

“Mrs. McGreen, isn't it?” Phryne asked, extending her hand. 

“Miss” the elderly lady corrected, with a smile. “Marriage was not meant for me.” 

“I don't blame you,” Mrs. Robinson mumbled under her breath. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Nothing to worry about,” the Detective smiled sweetly, taking the offered seat and leaning her umbrella against the desk. For a moment she felt the curious eyes of the Lady burning on herself, then she bustled towards the hall. 

“I'll fetch Madame Germain then.” 

“Thank you,” Phryne smiled. The door closed and she was alone with the rain and a lovely picture of poppies hanging beside the window. Her thoughts drifted back to Jack. He certainly wouldn't be thrilled about her arrangement with Julian Riley. But then, he had asked her to take up tango again with somebody else, since he absolutely would not dance with her himself. She sighed, slipping the leather gloves from her finger. The Inspector was a stubborn man. Maybe she should make another attempt at swaying him. She smiled to herself, just when something caught her eyes. Phryne laid down her gloves, before crouching down and fishing the glittering piece of jewelry out from under the desk. She inspected it carefully. 

“Mrs. Robinson?” 

With a bang, Phryne hit her head on the edge of the desk. Swallowing down a curse she reappeared, turning to where Madame Claudine stood in the door, looking at her in a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“Were you looking for anything in particular?” she asked, while the somewhat flustered Lady Detective returned to her chair. She rubbed her head in an effort to soothe the stinging of what was soon going to be a bump. 

“This!” she said, opening her palm for Madame Germain to see her find. “Would you care to explain to me, what Mr. Steeger's wedding ring is doing underneath your desk?” 

There was certainly no way for Madame to turn any paler, but she made an attempt at it nonetheless.

“He must have lost it, when we had our meeting yesterday...” She trailed off, smoothing back a loose strain of hair. “All right, Mrs. Robinson. As you have guessed already, he was here with me when his state of confusion began...” 

Phryne leaned back in her chair, looking smug.

“And you didn't care to share this tiny little detail with the police?” 

Madame Claudine folded her restless hands on the table.

“It is a delicate matter,” she explained. 

“You had an affair?” Phryne asked, matter-of-factly. 

“No.... no.” Madame looked at her, her eyes the shade of a thundercloud. “Not anymore.” 

Her clock ticked into the silence, while Phryne waited for her to explain. She had to wait a few minutes until Madame Claudine had found her countenance again.

“Madame?” she finally asked. 

“We had a brief dalliance in Argentina, a long time ago. The letters we shared were full of passion. When he stood at my doorstep, I thought... And then he introduced his wife.” 

“Well, that would've put a dent into the romance,” Phryne quipped. Madame's dark look ensured she knew how inappropriate her comment had been. 

“But he was an old friend in need of my help and so I did the only thing I could do: I grit my teeth and gave them employment. And that was the end of the matter.” 

“You didn't take up your dalliance later on?”

Madame's voice had turned a shade colder when she answered.

“I don't sleep with either employers or students, Mrs. Robinson.” 

Phryne nodded. For some reason she believed that to be true. But she did wonder how hard it had been in this particular cas e. 

“Did Mrs. Steeger know of your shared past?” she asked after a moment's thought. 

“I suspect that she did. We never grew very fond of each other. But then we didn't talk about this matter.” 

“Then why was him being in your office as a 'delicate matter'?” Phryne asked, intrigued. 

A thin smiled answered her, while Madame Germain staid silent for a long moment.

“We had an early meeting to discuss why I had asked Camila to perform with Julian. Nicolas was far from impressed.”

“Which wouldn't happen to have something to do with the financial help Mr. Riley's family has granted?” Phryne smirked. 

“It was a business decision,” Madame Claudine said coldly. “Why is of very little concern to you.” 

“Everything is my concern in a murder case,” Mrs. Robinson smiled, playing with a small statue standing on the desk, as if to prove her point. “But despite the topic it was merely a business meeting?” 

Madame Germain sighed loudly,  taking the statuette from the Lady Detectives hand with gentle force. 

“Imagine if you will, Mrs. Robinson, a man you share a past with, suddenly becomes very agitated and starts ripping the clothes from his body in your presence? While his wife is on her way into the building nevertheless. Would you inform the police?”

Phryne thought about this for a long moment.

“You know, I probably would.” she said. “And I'd appreciate if you hand over the evidence you have been hiding.” 

Madame nodded, unlocking a drawer in her desk and gently laying out a tie and a cuff-link. Phryne ran her fingers over the silken fabric.

“I had been wondering where it'd gotten to,” she said. “But I am surprised you haven't let this disappear just yet,” she added happily. Madame just shrugged, looking embarrassed. 

“I see,” Phryne mumbled, getting to her feet. “Oh, and I assume he wasn't poisoned in your office?”

Claudine Germain wordlessly handed her the water jug.

“He had a gulp of water when he started feeling flustered,” she said after a long moment. “So I doubt it very much, but please be my guest.” 

Phryne nodded, taking the jug from her hands. It wasn't a particularly great look, she thought as she climbed down the stairs on her way to the waiting cab with the glass jug in hand. The cabbie s appeared cold and annoyed  by this time . 

“Did you get everything taken care of, Ma'am?” Cec asked politely, taking the jug from her as he opened the door. 

“We didn't really need any more water,” Bert grumbled, as it was thrust into his hands. 

“This one might hold poison,” Phryne stated happily, climbing into the cab. Highly amused she watched on as Bert stretched his arms as far away from his body as they would go in the confinement, while Cec started up the motorcar. 

“It is rather unlikely though,” Phryne continued, getting comfortable. Just then, Cec had to break off to avoid a motorcar, turning around the corner at a speed that would've made Miss Fisher proud. The sudden stop caused the water in the jug to splash up dangerously close to the rim. Phryne had to bite back a laugh at the Cabbie's expressions. 

“But I do believe we should deliver it to City South before Bert spills it.” 

X

Jack calmly accepted the cup of tea from a n elderly maid's hands, before concentrating again on the man sitting across from him behind his desk. He found Hugh's chattering teeth somewhat distracting. It also reminding him of his own frozen feet. But he tried to be as dignified as his wet clothes allowed, when he finally answered the Botanist's burning question. 

“Someone was murdered this morning just down the street from here and I believe it might have been done with the help of the shrub out there in your park,” he explained. Professor Altman looked at him calmly, nodding his head. 

“It is quite a deadly little thing,” he said after a moment, his voice tinged with fondness. “Also incredibly rare on this side of the world. You see, _Atropus Belladonna_ is a plant mostly found in Europe and North America and it isn't easily cultivated. In fact I am aware of only a single documented finding of this particular shrub in Australia. Imagine my surprise, when I realised that it was growing in my own backyard.” 

A happy smile lit up the professor's face. After a quick change of clothes, only his damp hair reminded of his own dive into the pouring rain. He obviously was used to being out in the weather at inconvenient times and had come to his office prepared. Jack currently envied him, as he moved, his soaked shirt clinging coldly to his back.

“I shared your surprise when I stumbled over it during a picnic in the gardens,” the Inspector pointed out calmly. 

Professor Altman squinted at him in a scrutinizing stare.

“Most people would not have recognized it,” he pointed out, barely hiding his curiosity. Jack straightened his back, feeling somewhat insulted. Even though his knowledge of the plant was purely theoretical and fueled by Jane's endless curiosity and Phryne's extensive book collection, he was tired of feeling like a fool. He opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, but once again didn't get any further. 

“Well, the Detective-Inspector is a very smart man.” Both men turned to where Hugh Collin's was sitting, up until now silent, aside from his teeth. “Even though he does not read the weather report.” 

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack pressed out between clenched teeth. The head of the Herbarium already considered them amateurs, this wasn't helping. But to his surprise, Professor Altman burst into a low, rumbling laugh. 

“Very good, Constable...”

“Collins, Sir.” 

He straightened up, leaning on his elbows onto the desk.

“Anyway, you will understand that I cannot possibly allow you to dig through the gardens, murder or no murder, Inspector. And I would hate to call George Sanderson, but I will if it is necessary to protect my darling plants.” 

Jack decided against pointing out his own relationship with the Chief Commissioner, who after a rather bloody showdown inside a prison, had barely managed to hold on to his position. The fact that he was still the head of Melbourne's police force had much to do with a certain Detective-Inspector. It had cost Jack some  effort to overcome his  reluctance in giving sob-worthy interviews  to several newspapers,  but Phryne had convinced him that  'Georgey' deserved all the help they could provide, after he had saved them from the Brownings yet again, risking his own career. To nobody's surprise but Jack's, the stories had turned both him and Collins into heroes in the public eye and Sanderson into the first Police Commissioner the city actually liked. It was rather mind blowing to the Inspector what the press was able to do. However, Professor Magnus Altman didn't strike him as a man reading the newspaper in the morning. He probably thought of the poor trees. 

“With all due respect, Sir, this is a murder investigation,” the Inspector tried to reason. 

“What makes you think my Belladonna is the culprit?” the Botanist asked. The Police Officers shared a look, but agreed that there was no choice. In short words Jack explained what had happened to Nicolas Steeger. When he'd finished the Professor was rubbing his clean shaven chin in thought. 

“Those symptoms could certainly point to _Atropa Belladonna_, but then I can think of a dozen other plants where ingestion might cause similar effects. And then you will find dried leaves and roots of Deadly Nightshade sold in just about any pharmacy and by half the herb-ladies in this city. And that is not even talking about tinctures, powders and other remedies, Inspector.” 

Jack didn't know what to answer. He couldn't quite explain the connection he felt just had to be there.  It was too much of a coincidence. Or was it? 

“Professor Altman, what makes me consider this particular plant as the culprit is not only it's proximity to the crime scene but also a missing part.” 

Altman looked stunned for a moment.

“Pardon me?” 

“When I found the shrub in my daughter's company, we noticed that a branch had been removed. Which was reason for some concern to me even before the victim dropped dead.” 

For a long moment it was silent. Then Professor Altman grinned.

“Inspector Robinson, I believe I need to show you something.” 


	14. Forró

“Where are we heading, Sir?” Hugh Collins asked, when the Inspector turned the car south rather than west. 

“Home, Collins.”

The Constable seemed to ponder this for a moment.

“But I am working the late shift, Sir.” 

“I telephoned the Station to let them know that we will not be back,” Jack stated calmly, trying to concentrate on the flooding street. The rain hadn't let up in hours, pouring down as if it was trying to sweep all sin of the earth. Hugh sneezed into the silence. 

“I doubt your wife has currently the strength to deal with a sick husband on top of her newborn,” the Inspector pointed out, smiling to himself. He was freezing and doubted that the Constable was any better off. It was time to call it a day. 

“I fear you're right, Sir,” Hugh said. “In fact, I am not sure if she has the strength to deal with little Thomas alone right now.” 

It was out before Hugh had considered what it meant telling this to his superior. Jack stayed silent while he slowed the car down to let a horse pass. The brown mare was struggling on the slippery cobbles but bravely dragged her cart on through the rain. Hugh moved anxiously in his seat.

“I apologize, Sir. That was a very inappropriate thing to say.” 

Jack shook his head.

“We share a house, Collins. It might not have been what we'd chosen and it's certainly not making working together any easier, but as it happens, we are somewhat like family.” 

Hugh turned his head to the window in an attempt to hide the involuntary smile lighting up his face.

“That is very kind of you to say, Sir.”

Jack ignored this as best as he could, he felt already like he had said too much. There certainly was no need to get emotional with one of his officer, even if it was Hugh Collins.

“So, if there is anything of concern happening with Dorothy, we are here to help,” he added, just in case his statement hadn't been clear enough. 

“That's just it, Sir,” Hugh said, “she won't even accept my help.” Silence again snuck into the car, as it travelled through the rain and finally stopped in front of the familiar white building. Both men were busy with their thoughts. 

“You may have to try harder, Collins,” Jack said, just when Hugh was about to open his door. “Your wife is a strong woman and let me put it like this: strong women sometimes forget to ask for help, even when they need it.”

Hugh nodded slowly, letting this sink in.

“Thank you, Sir.” 

He left, rushing through the rain towards his own front door. Jack sat for a long moment longer. Then he shook his head and climbed out of the car. He took his time to get to the house. It was not like the rain could do anything that hadn't already happened.

Mr. Butler opened to him seemingly unfazed by his Master being completely drenched and just took his wet coat from him.

“Will you be taking dinner in tonight, Sir?” he asked when Jack headed for the stairs. He inspected his watch, before answering. “Later, Mr. Butler, I will only have a change of clothes and then have to head back out. ” He turned on the second step. “Tell me, is my wife in?” 

“I'm afraid not, Sir.”

Jack nodded, turning away before his disappointment could show.

“Has she said where she was headed?” 

“No, Sir.” 

Another nod, then the Inspector headed up the stairs. Walking past Jane's room, he heard faint singing. It almost sounded like...

“Jane and Harry sitting in a tree...” 

“Stop it, Mel!” 

But there was a faint giggling in Jane's voice. Jack stopped cold, but the rest of the conversation was just quiet murmuring. Harry? Harry Taylor was Jane's dancing partner, the Inspector remembered that much. He hadn't spoken a word with the boy yet, but Phryne had. It seemed it was time they had a conversation about the young man. He continued to his bedroom, his head full of thoughts and almost forgot the time. And so he missed his wife by the whole of five minutes when he finally rushed back out into the rainy evening.

X

Hugh Collins had a much colder greeting when he stepped through his own front door. The hall was engulfed in darkness. Calling out for Dot, he crossed the parlour into the kitchen, where the cold stove was witness to complete neglect of housework. At this stage, Hugh's worry turned into fear. He rushed up the stairs, his heart beating in his throat. It was silent, the crib missing, but a figure was lying on the bed, her back turned to him, her hair spread out over the pillow. A dark red stain was forming on the sheet, where her arm was sprawled out.

“Dottie!” 

Hugh was by his wife's side in an instance, shaking her shoulder. “Dottie!”

She groaned, leaving a smear of blood from where her cut had seeped through the bandaging and finally turned, looking at him out of blurry eyes.

“Hugh?” 

She blinked into the grey afternoon light that filtered through the curtains when he didn't answer.

“What's the matter?” 

“Dottie?” he repeating. He seemed completely unable to explain what had been going through his mind. “God, I...” he trailed off, then started. 

“Where is Tommy?” 

“With Mr. Butler. He insisted I get some sleep. Hugh, is everything all right? You are all wet!” 

She touched his face, leaving a dark smear on his cheek.

“Everything's fine,” he said, like a mantra that he needed to convince himself of. “Everything is perfectly fine.” 

When he hugged her tightly to his wet uniform, Dot thought for a moment that he was about to burst into tears before he changing his mind. But surely she was only imagining this.

X

Miss Fisher was annoyed. At the Station, Constable Arnold had informed her that Jack was out on business and not going to return for the day. He had been nice enough and been happy to accept the jug from Bert's very careful hands for testing, but the Inspector's office exuded a silence that always disturbed her. City South without Jack Robinson was not quite right. When she finally stepped onto her porch after handing the Cabbies a few extra coins for their patience, which would probably not make it's way further than to the next pub, she was just looking forward to a warm meal and an even warmer bed, possibly followed by a glass of whiskey and an update on Jack's progress in the case. She couldn't wait to confirm his suspicions about Madame Claudine and the victim, yet there were other things that she burned even more to share with him.

“Good evening, ma'am,” Mr. Butler greeted her, taking her coat. She glanced past him, realising that there were only two places set at the table. 

“The Inspector has gone out,” Mr. Butler answered her question before she could ask it. 

Phryne smiled. It took some effort.

“Has he mentioned where he is or when he is going to return?” she asked. Mr. Butler had to deny, showing her through to the dining room. Mrs. Robinson considered this while he went upstairs to fetch Jane. Jack not letting anyone know where he was headed, was unusual and she couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the things he had been keeping from her. She needed to talk to him, she once again decided firmly. But first of all, she would have dinner with Jane and visit Dot to see if her assistant had recovered from her little accident. 

And then she would go upstairs and think about how exactly she would receive Jack when he returned home. She smiled at the thought, unfolding her serviette with flourish. In fact she couldn't wait to welcome him home.

X

Jack found himself on the doorstep of the  big  Victorian  house ,  for the first time alone. He wasn't even certain why he had come, other than to not be rude to someone who had never been anything but lovely to him. But when he rang the door bell a second time after he'd received no answer, he began to regret his politeness. 

Then the door was ripped open, a flustered Riya standing in front of him.

“I am so sorry, Inspector. It's Inga's night off and I started painting and... I just forgot time, I'm afraid. Please do come through.” 

Jack managed a smile.

“It is not a problem.” 

She ushered him into the hall with paint splattered fingers and hung up his coat and hat.

“Now, I do hope you are hungry, Inspector, I am very certain that Inga left me her goulash and I despise eating alone.” 

She showed him through to the dining room that was set for two people and bustled away into the kitchen. Jack looked around, wondering how he would get out of this. He was only here to pick up a book! One he didn't even want any more.

“Living alone I can cope with, working I wouldn't want anyone about, but sitting down for a nice meal, I am actually feeling lonely.” 

Jack was unable to not smile at this.

“I can relate,” he said, when his host returned with a bowl full of steaming stew. “I always avoided nice meals as much as possible when I was alone.” 

He bit his tongue a moment too late. The Inspector had never revealed this to anyone, not even Phryne.

“Well, in this case this is certainly not a meal you should be having on your own, Inspector. A recipe from Inga's grandmother, I believe.” 

“It smells wonderful,” Jack said politely, realising with a start that he wasn't lying. And his stomach was growling. He briefly thought of Phryne but surely she wouldn't hold it against him if he kept her friend company during dinner. More likely the opposite. So he finally sat down onto the offered chair, while the lady of the house dished out both the stew and a strange sort of dumplings that were neither round nor could he repeat what Riya laughingly called them. 

The food was in fact delicious and so he didn 't protest his hostess pouring him a glass of wine and lighting some candles. By the time he had emptied both his plate and glass, it was getting late. 

“Mrs. Santi, I don't wish to be rude, but I do need to head home. Thank you very much for dinner...” He rose or more made an attempt to, but she laid her hand on his arm. 

“Inspector... actually, shall we leave this strange formality? My name is Riya, as you know.” 

“Of course,” he gave her a strained smile. “But Phryne is waiting-”

“Jack, you are a very good policeman and as such are bound to know that I haven't asked you to come here for goulash or Goethe,” she said calmly, watching him drop back onto his chair. 

“I had my suspicions,” he said after a long pause. 

“Let's head to the sitting room,” she offered. “This might go down better with a tumbler of Whiskey.” 

A part of Jack wanted to flee the building, but he was intrigued. So he followed the Lady of the house.  Soon he found himself in the very same armchair he had spent the gone evening in, a very similar tumbler in hand. Only the colour of Riya's clothing – a flo wing pair of trousers reminding him of pictures he had seen of far-eastern women – and the absence of his wife kept his sense of deja vu in check. 

“Jack, I've asked.... or rather lured you here tonight, because I am worried,” Riya Santi began.

“Police business?” the Inspector asked. “Because in that case I'd rather discuss this at the Station.”

A pair of beautiful almond eyes fixed on him in silence for a long moment.

“I have known Phryne for a very long time, Jack. She has a beautiful soul, a wonderful spirit. I can sense her being unsatisfied.” 

Jack forgot to breath, as he felt his shields shift into place. This was none of this woman's business. She was being manipulative and nosy and... He gulped. And right! He had sensed it too when he had watched Phryne tango. She had married him, allowed him to tame her. And lost something in the process that he was unable to restore to her as much as he wanted to. He stared at his hands, choking on every possible answer.

“Thank you for this insight, Mrs. Santi. I really need to go.” 

“Riya!” she said firmly and something about it caused him to stop in his tracks. He turned to her, without tearing his eyes from the floor. 

“You're right,” he said quietly, holding on to his composure by a thin thread. “But then, there is little I can do about it,” he added after a long moment, trying to not let her see that her words had hit him in the heart. “So, if you don't mind-” 

“I _do_ mind, Jack.” 

“Right.” 

He sat down, rubbing his suddenly cold hands.

“I asked her to take up dancing again,” he admitted after a long moment. 

“With this Nicolas?” 

“Well hardly, since he is dead!” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. 

“Jack?” 

Finally the Inspector managed to look at his hostess, who he found had tears shimmering in her eyes that mirrored his own.

“You are a fool! Phryne has danced with many men in her past, none of which have ever fulfilled her. She desires to dance with _you_!” 

“I...” 

The Inspector found nothing to say to that.

“So, what do you propose I do?” he asked after another long moment staring at his hands. When he returned his gaze to the other chair, Riya had disappeared. A moment later soft music sounded through the room. She walked up to him, the embroidering on her black pants glimmering in the light with every step, and stretched out her hand. 

“I propose that you stop being a fool, Jack.” 

He wanted to protest, he really did. But then he thought of Phryne in Nicolas Steeger's arms, the glitter in her eyes and suddenly all he could do was take the offered hand.


	15. Ballet

He could feel sweat dampening his shirt, the music flowing along his spine. Yet his feet were never where they were meant to be, his arms sore, his breath ragged. Jack stopped, halfway through a spin.

“I don't think I am meant to be a dancer,” he panted. 

“No one is born a master Jack,” Riya said, a sheen of sweat covering what was visible of her chest. “You might need a little more than one evening.” 

Her enthusiasm was infectious and a minute later the Inspector was back on the parquet, attempting another complicated figure that made him feel like his legs were going to be knotted after the night. He couldn't lie, he felt the rush of the drug. He was almost, if not quite, enjoying himself, when Riya twirled around him once more. That was until they came to something she called 'Enganche' about a minute later. Jack gasped, when he found his dancing partner's legs suddenly wrapped around his thigh. After several days of neglected desires, her harmless touch felt like a match to dry wood in every fibre of his body. The Inspector stumbled backwards, gently retrieving his teacher from himself.

“Riya... I'm sorry but I cannot do this.” 

“It is just a dancing figure,” she protested, but to no avail. 

“I respect you, Mrs. Santi, but this is not a position I want to be in with anyone but my wife,” he said stiffly. “Thank you for dinner.” 

Before she could say anything else, he all but fled the house. A moment later a motor roared outside. Riya Santi still stood in the middle of her sitting room, somewhat thunderstruck. Then she sighed loudly and let herself fall into her chair, raising her glass to one of the photographs sitting on her mantelpiece.

“Well, my love, at least you have found yourself a faithful husband,” she said happily to a much younger Phryne. “Which is more than I have managed.” 

She drained her glass.

“And I'll bet you everything I own that he will be back, too, my girl. He has tasted blood.” 

She rose to her feet, turning off the light as she returned to her bedroom, where an unfinished painting waited.

X

“Shouldn't you be in bed, considering it is a school night?” Dot asked. Jane watched her feed Thomas for a moment longer, before she tore her eyes from the wondrous, awkward thing. 

“Jack's not come home yet and Phryne's turned in early,” she grinned. “So nobody cares but Mr. Butler and I think he's currently trying his hardest to fight Hugh's oncoming cold with a whole bottle of brandy.” 

Her friend shrugged helplessly, looking down at her little son who protested as she detached him for a moment to find a more comfortable position.

“He was acting very strangely when he returned home tonight,” she explained. “Do you know if he is working on a case at the moment?” 

It took some time for Jane to recount what had happened the same morning.

“Oh, you poor thing. How terrible. Did you like him very much?” 

“No. But I didn't dislike him enough to want him to drop dead.” 

Dot couldn't manage to suppress her grin.

“Ouch.” She flinched. “I'm not certain how he manages to bite me without even having teeth.” 

“A very talented child,” Jane laughed, while Dot pulled a grimace, finally retrieving her son and handing him to her friend. 

“Would you like some cocoa?” she asked, raising to her feet. 

“Thank you,” Jane said, tickling the little boy on his cheek. He stared at her with a bright, toothless smile. 

“He's so adorable.” 

“When he is not crying, he is,” Dot pointed out, from the kitchen. “Sadly that doesn't happen too often.” 

Jane looked at the little man with raised eyebrows.

“You can't be bad around here,” she whispered. “The house is swarming with police. And a Lady Detective.” 

Thomas only looked at her with big eyes, but stayed quiet. At least for the time being.

X

She had been waiting for some time when she finally heard the key turn in the lock. Phryne smiled to herself, smoothing out Jack's tie between her breasts - currently her only item of clothing. After draping herself onto the bed in a position that vaguely reminded of a certain picture on her wall, she felt ready to receive her husband. And this time, there was no escape. Not if the house should burn down, would she let him out of her bed until they had satisfied every fibre in their bodies, she swore herself when steps drew closer. She let her eyes flutter shut as the door swung open, waiting for his breath to catch. 

Moments later she could feel a pair of eyes  travelling over her naked body,  caressing her every curve, but something was odd.  Opening her lashes she found that it wasn 't at all who she had expected. 

“Julian?” she gasped, feeling a forbidden rush, mixing into her guilt, as she grasped for her sheet to cover herself. The dancer smiled, no knowledge of wrong-doing displayed in his handsome face. 

“What are you doing here?” Phryne inquired, somewhat confused. 

“I hope you don't mind that I extended the invitation to him,” a deep voice said in the shadows. Phryne stared at a grinning Jack stepping forward with her mouth hanging open. She didn't get to ask any questions as fingertips trailed over her breast, sending sparks through her stomach. 

“Jack?”

“Shhhs,” the Inspector murmured, slipping down on the bed right behind her, nibbling on her neck. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her against his warm chest, while two slender, unfamiliar hands went on a discovery tour over her exposed body, lighting small fires in their wake. Phryne surrendered into the desire she could barely control, searching for Jack's lips. Moments later she groaned into his mouth, as Julian's fingers dipped between her thighs, his mouth kissing down a trail to her navel. Jack's hardness pressed into her hips, his tongue running down her neck in search for her nipples, she allowed herself to be swept away. 

Writhing between the two men, her fingers woven painfully through the dark hair of her mere acquaintance while her husband held onto her like an anchor, she knew it couldn't be real. But it was certainly too good to wake up just yet...

Meanwhile, in the real world, Jack found himself greeted by a moan upon sneaking into his wife's bedroom. With a smile on his lips he watched Phryne, naked as on the day of her birth, thrashing about under the duvet, obviously lost in enjoyable dreams. Jack slowly undressed, unwilling to take his eyes from her. His body had barely had a chance to calm down on his drive through the night. Neither had his sense of guilt, but then, it had been nothing but dancing. Phryne would tell him so. He slipped under the covers, his aroused body turned to her, his hand wrapping around her waist in the hope of waking her gently. She rewarded him with another groan that caused his stomach to leap. God, he needed to feel her.

“Phryne?” he whispered beside her ear, gently caressing one of her breasts. Another moan. She seemed to answer something in her sleep and he had to lean in closer to hear what she was saying. It was a name. Jack wasn't sure if he had heard right, but a second later, she repeated it, louder, breathlessly. 

“Julian!” 

The Inspector froze, then carefully retreated, making sure their bodies weren't touching as he rolled on his back. He felt numb. The rational part of his brain told him that it was just a dream. The rest of him struggled with the lump in his throat as he lay alone and cold on his side of the bed, listening to Phryne sleeping with another man.

X

Grey morning light slipped through the closed curtains, finding a woman splayed over the otherwise empty bed, her hand lying on a cold pillow that had been occupied by her husband up until an hour ago. Phryne opened her eyes with the knowledge that Jack wasn't there.  Instead  Mr. Butler stood in the room with a tray of tea and a smile. 

“Ma'am? It's eight o'clock.” 

With a groan, Phryne tore her blurry face from her pillow and looked at the servant, questions written through her eyes.

“You asked me to wake you?” he pointed out gently, setting down his tray and going on to draw back the curtains. 

“I remember,” she mumbled, aiming her eyes at Jack's empty bedside. She didn't recall him coming home. Only that she had been waiting for him in bed until late. 

“The Inspector is having breakfast, Ma'am. If you come down directly you might still be able to catch him.” 

Phryne nodded, unsure if to be relieved or angry. She slipped out of bed, wrapping herself up in a morning gown, briefly smoothing her hair in the mirror. Her servant watched her with worry. A good butler knew everything that was going on in his household and Tobias Butler was very, very good at his job. Nevertheless he followed his Mistress down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the Inspector was about to finish his coffee.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he smiled, dropping his newspaper on the table and getting to his feet to kiss her. Sometime lying sleeplessly in the dark, long after Phryne's dreams had mellowed, he had come to a conclusion. He had fallen in love with Phryne Fisher because of her free spirit, her thirst for adventure, and if he wanted to hold on to their marriage it wouldn't do to just stand back and watch her find what she was missing with somebody else. Riya had been right. It was time to stop being a fool. 

While Mr. Butler turned on his way through the kitchen door and decided that there was some urgent business to take care of at the other end of the house, Phryne found herself surprised by the passionate kiss she was caught in at 8 in the morning. Something was certainly going on, but for the moment she just chose to enjoy the feel of a freshly washed and shaven Jack, who didn't seem withdrawn in the slightest. Instead he pulled out a chair for her and asked her if she wanted any toast. Her confusion rising, she watched him drop slices of bread into the toaster, pour her tea and sit back down.

Phryne took a sip from her cup before speaking.

“I was at the station yesterday afternoon,” she pointed out, watching him chewing on his own toast with vigour. “Constable Arnold is a very charming young man I must say.” 

The Inspector ignored her playful teasing and let her tell him in great detail about her visit to the dancing school, leaving out for the time being, Julian's offer.

“So just as I suspected, Madame did share a bed with Steeger at some point,” the Inspector concluded when she had finished recounting the interview. 

“I think she still might have,” Phryne smiled happily. 

“Didn't you say that she firmly denied that?” 

“And since when are you so easily convinced, Jack?” 

He grinned.

“A fair point.”

For a long moment they sat in companionable silence. The Inspector glanced at his watch. He had to leave soon, but there was something wonderful about sharing breakfast with Phryne. It didn't happen often enough.

“So, where did you disappear to yesterday?” he heard her ask. “Constable Arnold was very civil but he had no idea where you'd gone.” 

Jack cleared his throat in relief. He wasn't certain how to explain his evening date with Riya Santi. The afternoon was easier, if somewhat embarrassing.

“We returned to the Royal Botanic Garden to retrieve the nightshade plant I had spotted there on the weekend,” he explained calmly. 

“So you still believe it is what killed Nicolas Steeger?” Phryne asked, buttering her toast. Jack grinned. 

“The opposite is true, Miss Fisher. I know now without the shadow of a doubt that it wasn't.” 

Phryne looked at him somewhat confused. The Inspector's guts were hardly ever wrong.

“You may have to elaborate on this, Jack.” 

“We were disturbed by the head of the Herbarium, Professor Altman.”

Phryne nodded, she had met the man before at one of Aunt Prudence's charity evenings.

“As it turns out the missing branch is currently lying between sheets of newspapers in the National Herbarium, waiting to be dried out enough to be archived.” 

Jack had the decency to look embarrassed at this anticlimactic conclusion. Phryne couldn't manage to keep herself from smirking.

“Well, there goes our murder weapon,” she said, setting down her tea cup. “Have you received any results yet?” 

Jack shook his head, finally getting to his feet.

“No, and I doubt I will have anything of worth lying on my desk until the afternoon. But there is things to do, so I'll better head off. I assume I will see you at the Station later to satisfy your curiosity, Miss Fisher?” 

“You certainly will, Jack,” she smiled while she fished for the abandoned newspaper. “But this morning I do have another appointment.” 

“Yes?” Jack asked, buttoning up his jacket. 

“Mr. Riley has asked me to perform a dance with him at the ball, after Mrs. Steeger has pulled out grief-striken.” 

Glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes, she couldn't find any reaction in Jack's features.

“Well, I am glad,” he said, after a short pause. His voice may have been the slightest bit strained, Mrs. Robinson noted with some satisfaction. “You did want to take up tangoing again, so this should be a great opportunity to deepen your already impressive skills.” 

Phryne felt his soft lips being brushed to her cheek and then he was gone. She breathed out slowly, as her heart dared to slow down. That had gone better than expected. She wasn't quite sure why she should feel so disappointed.

X

The old piano stool creaked when he sat down beside her. Vicky just kept playing, a tear rolling down her cheek. A hand gently stroked her arm, causing her to flinch. She stopped.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “I don't know what's wrong with me.” 

A pair of soft eyes watched her for a long moment.

“Look at me, Vicky,” he said. Obediently the girl turned, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“You watched Nicolas die. Don't beat yourself up about being upset. It just means you have a heart.” 

He smiled his most charming smile and she couldn't help but mirror it.

“Come on, play something beautiful,” he said after a long moment. “I always loved listening to you play.” She obeyed, but instead of the usual waltz she drew a sonata from the finely tuned instrument. 

“Beethoven?” Julian asked. “A very good choice, Vicky.” 

“I doubt we will be able to dance to it though,” they heard a voice say behind them. Madame Claudine stood, her face unreadable. Riley smiled. 

“Not every music needs to be danced to, Claudine. Just as not every poem needs to rhyme.” 

Briefly Vicky wondered if he knew her secret, but she disposed of the thought as quickly as possible. How could he? She had never shared it with anyone.  
“We are in a dancing school though, if I may remind you,” Claudine argued.

“That is certainly true,” Julian said, getting to his feet and with an elegant twirl turning to Madame, pulling her hand to his lips. “Which does mean I have work to do. I have asked Mrs. Robinson to perform as my dancing partner, since Camila has pulled out for obvious reasons.” 

A shadow whispered over Claudine's pale features. Behind them, from both unseen, Victoria turned away, returning to playing the piano, as if she was trying to shut out the conversation that she was witnessing against her will.

“Are you certain this is a good idea, Julian?”

“She's an accomplished dancer. Granted not of the same quality as Camila, but then, who is?” 

“We cannot afford to make ourselves the subject of ridicule at the Debutante Ball, Julian,” Claudia hissed. “Not on top of everything else.” 

“Neither can we afford to cancel the performance,” he said smoothly. “I won't have to tell you what that would mean for our reputation.” 

Madame Germain nodded grimly.

“All right. Do as you see fit.” 

A broad grin appeared on Riley's face.

“Trust me, Claudine, she will be breathtaking.” 

She looked at him for a long moment, scrutinising him with violet eyes.

“You better make sure that she is,” she finally said coldly, sweeping out the room. The notes of Beethoven's No. 16 followed her through the empty hallways, whispering down the stairs and escaping into the grey morning. 


	16. Samba

A loud knock woke her from sweetest dreams. Then a hand touched her shoulder.

“Mrs. Santi!” 

She murmured something in her slumber, making an attempt to turn away from the intrusive disturber of her sleep, but Inga had been her maid for too long to be defied by such simple measures.

“Mrs. Santi,” she yelled directly beside her Mistress's ear. “The Inspector is downstairs!” 

Riya sat in her bed a split second later, a broad smile spreading over her features.

“Why didn't you say so? Tell him I shall be down in five minutes.” 

“Very well, Ma'am.” 

The maid left the bedroom with an amused shake of her head and returned to the hall, where Inspector Robinson stood, twirling his hat nervously in his hands.

“She will be down directly. Are you certain I can't offer you a seat?” she asked the man, who looked somewhat pale, while exuding quiet excitement. 

“No, no, thanks. I just need to speak with her briefly and I will be on my way.” 

Inga wasn't quite sure what had happened the night before, but she knew that her Mistress had expected male company. A man who drank single malt and smelled of the Inspector's soap. She feared that Mrs. Santi was about to get herself into trouble, but then, that was none of her business.

To the Inspector's fortune, Mrs. Santi was the rare breed of women, who was able to literally ready herself for company in five minutes and so she was merely 36 seconds late to her prediction when she hurried down the stairs.

“Jack, how lovely to see you!” 

What was often uttered as an empty phrase, roused in Jack the suspicion of complete sincerity in that she was indeed happy for his return.

“I am sorry to bother you,” the Inspector said, being, against his will, escorted into the sitting room and complimented into a chair. She didn't bother to fend off his polite words, instead waiting for what he truly had to say in silence. 

“I understand that my behaviour last night may have occurred to you as somewhat strange.” 

“Not at all.” 

To his surprise he found amusement in her features.

“Argentine Tango is a very sensuous dance, Jack. You are not the first decent man to be confused by it's implications, nor will you be the last.” 

Jack nodded, folding his hands  in his lap. It was time to make his move. 

“Nevertheless, after taking some time to consider things, I would like to know if you are still willing to teach me this 'confusing' dance.” 

If he had hoped that she would be excited about his change of mind, he was sorely disappointed. Riya measured him with dark eyes for a long moment while Inga brought the tea she had asked for.

“May I ask what has caused this change of heart?” she inquired when her maid had left. The Inspector couldn't help the feeling that he was being tested. Weighing the possible answers in his mind, he settled for honesty.

“I desire to be the husband Phryne wishes for.” 

His opposite didn't seem satisfied with the answer. 

“I am having a hard time to believe that you didn't know that until this morning?” 

The Inspector pressed his lips together, briefly considering his options. He certainly wouldn't point out Phryne's dream, lest he wanted to make himself subject  to ridicule and decided  in this instance  on a fraction of the truth. 

“She has resolved to perform with another charming, young dancer. And in contrast to Mr. Steeger he also happens to be alive.” 

Riya nodded, finally getting to her feet. Jack followed her example, glad to escape before she could dig any deeper into his soul. But he had miscalculated.

“Jealousy is a very fitting motivation, Jack. Come along then, lets turn to you into a gaucho,” she smiled over her shoulder, already on her way to her music collection. 

The Inspector threw a longing look at the door. There was a murder investigation, a group of inferior police officers who were bound to notice his absence and the great possibility that Phryne would show up in his office, expecting to find him. But it occurred to him that she was at present dancing with Julian Riley and that there was little movement in his case to be expected for several hours. So Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson allowed himself to be completely and utterly unreasonable. He took a deep breath and jumped down the rabbit hole. 

X

“I have somewhat scaled down the difficulty of the choreography,” Julian explained. “Not that I harbour any doubts about your talent, but we have barely five days left to reach some degree of perfection.” 

Phryne smiled graciously, stepping onto the dance floor.

“I believe we have already established that there is no need for undue flattery, Julian. I don't strive to replace Mrs. Steeger, merely to save you from having to cancel the performance at my daughter's Debutante ball.” She urged him to join her, grasping for his hand and feeling the other sliding over the back of her dress. 

“And if I can find some enjoyment in the process, I am not objecting either,” added with a mischievous smile, as the first notes of the tango swept over them. 

“I will try my best to keep you amused,” he grinned, while they walked. He really did smell lovely, manly and sweet at the same time, she pondered. Out of the blue she could remember everything. Her dream had been very enjoyable, but right now it made her feel like blushing over it's pure ridiculousness. She resisted the urge stubbornly, concentrating on her footwork. Suddenly, Julian stopped. 

“Where are your thoughts?” he asked. 

She drew a deep breath into her lungs and managed a smile.

“Nowhere worth mentioning.” 

“We cannot do this if you are not here with me,” Julian urged gently. 

“I apologize. I fear I _am_ a tad rusty.” 

He  could  obviously  see through her excuse but decided to not argue with her. When he returned from the gramophone to start over, Phryne had managed to shake off  most of  her embarrassment. But the guilt wouldn't leave. A dream was just a dream, she reminded herself and Jack had invited him over after all. 

“Phryne!” Julian said warningly, when she missed her move a second time. “Please, whatever it is that is distracting you, you need to let it go.” 

She let her eyes fall shut, her breath run calm. Jack's face appeared, smiling,  teasing her for being so sentimental . Julian's hands pivoted her perfectly out of the cross and into a Parada, her body finally finding some harmony with his. But Phryne's eyes stayed shut. She was bus ily holding onto Jack, as her leg brushed along Riley's; his hands traveled over her hips;  his breath grazed her neck. Right now, she realised with a start, she ached for him to turn into the Inspector.  But he didn't do her  that favour.  Her partner's eyes were still as blue as the sky when she opened hers again. Quiet clapping tore her from her thoughts wh ile the music came to an end. 

„That was wonderful,” Mia McGreen applauded. “Astonishing.” 

She came over, clasping both of Phryne's hands in her own.

“Thank you so very much for your help, Mrs. Robinson. I cannot imagine just how much this means to us.” 

“My pleasure, Miss McGreen,” she smiled, now mildly embarrassed and very flattered. “It's an honour do dance with such a talented man.” 

She turned, seeking out Julian's eyes, wondered if he had noticed that her thoughts still had been far, far away from him and this dance floor. But he grinned a boyish grin that she knew would break many hearts throughout his lifetime and returned the needle to the start.

“If you don't mind, Mia, we have plenty of work to do.” 

He pivoted past the elderly woman, pressing a  boisterious  kiss to her  pale  cheek and ripped Phryne back into his arms before the old lady had had a chance to blush. 

“Ready?” he asked somewhat breathlessly and Phryne nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling at his enthusiasm. 

“As ready as I'll ever be.” 

This time her eyes stayed wide open.

X

It was almost lunch time when the Inspector finally returned to the Station. Collins looked up only briefly from his paperwork when his superior inquired if any of the reports had arrived yet.

“Mrs. Robinson is waiting in your office, Sir,” he added, after he had denied. The Constable looked tired. Jack could imagine why, he had heard Thomas whine through much of the night, but the Inspector only nodded, stepping through the door while rubbing his aching left arm. Phryne looked stunning, he realised a moment later. Her skin was radiant, her eyes beaming. As if she had taken a sip from the well of youth. The Inspector's stomach tied into a tight knot. How was he supposed to compete with this? He, with his two left feet which had ended up on Riya's toes more often than he cared to remember. 

“Miss Fisher?” he quipped. “What do I owe the honour to?” 

He pulled the door shut behind himself in fear of her answer.

“A little bird has whispered into my ear that the Coroner's report might come trough around this time,” she answered, riffling through his paperwork as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. 

“I'm afraid, I'll have to disappoint you,” Jack said, stilling her hand. She pulled her red lips into a pout. 

“I might have to head to the morgue personally to wake Doctor Raves from his hangover induced slumber.” 

Jack gave her a lopsided grin. It wasn't a secret that the Coroner had a certain weakness for cheap rum. Yet he didn't need her to cause any trouble and it would definitely not speed up the process.

“How was your dancing lesson with Mr. Riley?” he asked, attempting to change the subject. 

Phryne didn't miss a beat.

“Most wonderful, thank you. I am a little below par still, but with a few more hours of training I should be able to bluff my way through it.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Jack lied, battling down the green-eyed monster roaring it's ugly head in the depths of his stomach. His anxiety wasn't lost on Phryne, who also noticed on closer inspection that there was sweat glittering on the Inspector's neckline and the knot of his tie loosened. It was a warm day, the blanket of grey clouds wouldn't let the heat escape. Phryne decided to settle for this being a completely reasonable explanation for his slightly dishevelled look. 

“How was your visit to Mrs. Steeger?” she asked. The Inspector started, obviously having been lost in thought. 

“Pardon?” 

“Collins tells me you went to see the widow again to ask some more questions.” 

Jack cleared his throat loudly. Of course, the tiny little white lie. It hadn't been exactly an option to tell his Constable that he was on the way to Mrs. Santi's house to make her a strange, secret proposition.

“I fear nothing new has transpired,” he finally said. “Her husband had some mysterious early appointment, which I am bound to guess was his meeting with Madame Claudine.”

“Which he didn't inform his wife of?” Phryne asked. 

“It appears, Nicolas Steeger was not very honest with in regards to his relationship with their employer. You might be close to the truth, thinking that they were still involved. Either way, Steeger took breakfast on his own before his wife had even left their bed. There is also no staff, so we can only guess from dishes and habits what he has eaten in the morning.” 

None of this was a lie, even though Jack had found out most of the details from Constable Jones, who had been at Steeger's house to collect the samples.

“How is she dealing with her husband's death?” Phryne asked casually and for the first time it occurred to the Inspector that she might have run into Mrs. Steeger at the dancing school. 

“Fairly well,” he lied nevertheless, feeling sweat dripping down the already clammy back of his shirt. 

“You know, maybe it would be a good idea if we headed over to the morgue,” he offered, already grasping for his hat. 

“An excellent idea,” Phryne grinned. In her head the suspicions fell over each other. He was hiding something. There was no doubt about it. But he didn't seem upset, she realised, when he held open the door for her, merely nervous and jumpy. In fact he appeared almost quietly excited. 

“Shall we take the Hispano?” she asked and he agreed absent-mindedly, opening the passenger door for her without any discussion about the driver. Phryne let it slip, but her worry deepened when he actually began humming as soon as he had pulled out onto the street. She couldn't make out any melody, but Jack was not a man who hummed!

Was he up to something behind her back? He acted a little bit like that time he had secretly plotted their engagement. Their conflict when she  finally found out, should have taught him  better than to attempt anything of the kind again. And there were no birthdays, no holidays or anniversaries in sight that demanded secrecy. 

She started, when his hand brushed over her knee,  casually  ran over the inside of her thigh. Jack  _never _ touched her in public. Kissing her with any witnesses a bout usually saw him battling with himself before he succumbed, his loss of control in the Botanic Garden she blamed on the unsatisfied desires he must be harboring. But right now he didn't seem lost in the slightest. Instead, his fingers trailed higher in a very determined fashion. Phryne tried to relax, stop fighting his intentions, but her thoughts were spinning. What was happening with Jack?

When his fingertips reached their goal, she gasped,  her eyes falling shut without asking her permission . Maybe there were no secrets! Just Jack reaching heights of sexual frustrations that made him break all his own, silly rules?

His fingers sent sparks along every synapses of her body, causing her to squirm in her seat, while his eyes stayed glued to the street.

“Pull over,” she demanded hoarsely. A tiny grin betrayed his agreement and a moments later he parked the Hispano an all but silent backstreet. He barely managed to stop the motor, before Phryne had launched onto his neck, her hand fumbling with his pants. 

“God,” he groaned, all his iron self-control dissolving into smouldering lust. Phryne saw out of the corner of her eye a curtain move behind a dusty window, but then Jack's thumb brushed over her nipple and she couldn't bring herself to care. He was panting heavily as she climbed onto his lap, his eyes squeezed shut, his hand clutching so tightly onto her hip that she was scared he would tear the fabric, while the other clamped her body to his. Phryne's head was swimming. She needed to feel him! Right now! 

Bending down to catch his mouth in an almost violent kiss, she straddled his lap, trying to shuffle the last of the fabric away.  The rocking motion  her attempt required, caused Jack to groan so loud ly that it seemed to echo off the surrounding house walls. 

“Have ya two lost yer minds?!” 

Phryne's head flew up, across t he yard stormed a housewife swinging a broom over her head, her face almost purple. 

“Jack?!” 

But he had noticed the woman as well, who was currently spitting a string of curses in their direction. His arms were already untangling them, helping Phryne off his lap to feverishly start the car. Seconds later the Hispano shot out of the small backstreet, holding two half-dressed people who were giggling like schoolgirls. 

“Oh God, Jack. That was a narrow escape,” Phryne laughed, shuffling her dress back over her undergarments, while the wind further tousled her hair. „I thought she might beat us to death with her broomstick.” 

Jack grinned, still feeling adrenaline pumping through his veins that could almost comfort him over another coitus interruptus. “I believe that was her full intention.”

“It certainly would have made for an interesting way to die,” Phryne laughed. “Imagine the papers.” 

The Inspector dared to tear his eyes long enough from the street to look at her.

“I'd rather not, Miss Fisher. You're lipstick is smeared,” he pointed out, reaching out a thumb to wipe some colour from her chin. Phryne almost purred at the sensation. He looked wild, his hair disheveled; lips red, half with her make-up, half with excitement; his pants still open and his shirt crumpled. She wanted him so badly right now that she was almost willing to risk another try in another street. But it wouldn't do to get themselves arrested for indecent behaviour in public. She would have to pace herself until tonight. A thought occurred to her. 

“What is it?” he asked, when she groaned in a completely unerotic fashion. 

“We are invited for dinner with Aunt P tonight.” 

His groan matched hers.


	17. Tarantella

They had to pull over for a quick stop to button up Jack's pants – an act he refused any help with – and remove the lipstick from his face – which Phryne refused to leave to him – before they could finally enter the morgue. Dr. Raves was bent over the body with his back turned to the door, swaying  s lightly on his feet. From the waste bin, insufficiently hidden under a pile of paperwork, poked out the neck of a bottle. The Inspector shared an annoyed look with his wife, clapping the elderly man on the back. He flinched, taking off his glasses. 

“Oh, Inspector Robinson. I am just taking care of your body right now.” 

“I rather hope you mean Mr. Steeger's,” Jack said under his breath. 

“Pardon me?” 

“When do you believe you will be finished?” the DI asked louder, watching Phryne sneaking up to the pile of clothes she had only managed a brief look at yesterday, out of the corner of his eye. After he'd received a noncommittal answer mixed with the stench of cheap rum, he joined her at the table. She was currently running her fingertips over the second cufflink, this one having stayed in the shirtsleeve when it had been ripped away by the dying man. 

“It's a match,” she whispered. “He noticed the first effects of the poison in Madame's office.” 

“If we are to believe her. And he actually was poisoned,” Jack corrected her. 

“I believe your body was poisoned,” the Coroner's unsteady voice sounded from where he was still butchering Nicolas Steeger's corpse. Jack's jaw set. 

“You were saying, Inspector?” Phryne asked innocently, her eyes glimmering in the dim light. 

Jack turned slowly to the Doctor, watching him pull the skin back over the patients chest like tucking in a child.

“What brings you to this conclusion, Doctor?” he asked patiently. 

“Well look at this, Inspector. His pupils are so big you could sink half of England in them.” 

The man laughed a little mad laugh, while Jack rolled his eyes, holding on to his composure by a thin threat.

“Anything else?” 

“His skin was still glowin' in the dark when he got here. And his clothes came in another bag.” 

Jack stared at  the highly amused Coroner now with  open annoyance. 

“No saliva in his mouth either. And his heart, I'm not even gonna tell you about his heart.” 

“Could you please get to the point, Doctor?” Phryne intruded into the conversation, before the Inspector could commit a murder right in front of her eyes. 

“Ahh, Miss Fisher,” the man giggled, reaching for his scalpel. “You see, they say he's gotta be 'blind as a bat, red as a beet, hot as a hatter... no mad as a hatter, hot as a hare. Oh and I haven't reached that last part yet.” 

The Doctor extended  the hand holding the scalpel, looking like he was going to  fall over backwards . Instead he drove the sharp instrument into the lower stomach of Steeger's body. Phryne took a step backwards just in time before the yellow fluid erupted from the cut. The Inspector wasn't quite so lucky. Before he had a chance to flee, some of the urine dripped onto his shoes, causing the last of his nerves to snap. 

But just when he was ready to start yelling at the Doctor, the Coroner waved his arms like a magician.

“And bloated as a toad. Your Mr. Steeger died of poisoning. Atropine if I am any judge.”

Phryne watched Jack quietly boiling. It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“And if I am not mistaken...”

She trailed off, turning to stare at the Inspector. Jack's jaw stayed set, as he retrieved his feet from the puddle on the floor.

“...that is the poison in Deadly Nightshade,” he finished her sentence calmly. 

The  Detectives shared the same thought: it was too much of a coincidence. 

“Could be,” the Doctor happily intruded into their quiet conversation. “Or about any other nightshade really. Jimson weed would do the trick. Mandrake. Or henbane, mind you that's hard to come by...”

He mumbled on, while Phryne slowly pulled the steaming Jack to the door, opened it and pushed him through it. Blinking into the grey afternoon, he slammed his hat onto his head, walked two steps towards the exit, then spun on his heels and stormed back through the door before she could stop him. 

“One more thing, Doctor!” 

The man turned, swaying l ike a leaf in the breeze . Jack bent over, and moments later slammed the empty rum bottle on the table.  It took a moment for the Coroner to focus on it. 

“You are a very smart man, Dr. Raver. And if I ever find you drunk on the job again, you won't be having one! Do you understand?” 

The man looked at him, somehow managing to pale under his rosy cheeks.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good man,” Jack said, slamming the door shut behind himself. Outside he took a moment to straighten his coat, then offered Phryne his arm, ignoring the liquid slowly seeping through his socks. 

Phryne smirked up at him, adjusting his hat in an automatic gesture. Her heart was beating against her ribcage with pride and the urge to drag h er husband into the next unlocked door with the full  in tention of misusing an autopsy table. 

“Should I tell you a secret, Inspector?” she asked, as they strode down the ramp together. 

“And there I thought a Lady conceals her secrets,” he grinned. 

A moment later DI Robinson found himself pinned against the wall by a warm body, her red mouth reaching up to his ear, just barely brushing against his earlobe as she whispered: “If you keep acting like this, I might forget about being a lady, Inspector.”

She retreated before he had caught his breath, smiled at him and wandered off towards the car.

X

“It looks evil.” 

“It's a plant!” Jane argued, slapping Mel's extending fingers. “But don't touch it.” 

“It's not going to bite her,” the boy standing beside her pointed out. 

Jane rolled her eyes at her two friends and pulled out the pair of gloves she had brought for this. Carefully she bent down the suddenly ending branch.

“Why would he just take a little bit?” Mel wondered. “Wouldn't it be easier to take the whole thing? You know so you have enough?”

“Well someone tried,” Jane said thoughtfully, pointing at the shovel marks. 

“Maybe someone have interrupted him” the boy pointed out. Jane stayed quiet for a long moment. 

“Who says it was a man?” 

She reached out for Harry's hand, who obediently helped her to her feet. Jane ended up standing directly in front of him, with her heart beating a little bit too fast for her liking. His brown eyes were so soft that her mouth ran dry.

“Well, you think it was a woman?” Mel was still crouching on the floor, staring at the Belladonna plant with some disgust. Now she looked up. “Jane?” 

“Hmmm,” her friend made without turning around. His lips were beautifully curved she found and his hand was now touching hers, sending little sparkles along her fingers. She really wasn't sure if that was normal, but she couldn't seem to look away. 

“Jane!”

“What is it Mel?” 

“Your parents!” 

Suddenly Jane's heart was beating for entirely different reasons. The girl spun, indeed spotting Phryne on Jack's arm, currently laughingly passing the herb beds.

“Hide,” she hissed, grabbing both her friends wrists and dragging them into the greenery. Spying out between the bushes, the children breathlessly watched the two Detectives arrive at the shrub they only just had left. 

“Not a very impressive plant to be so deadly,” Phryne stated, crouching down beside the shrub. 

“I'll find you a more interesting murder weapon next time,” Jack quipped, pulling a pair of black leather gloves from his coat pocket. 

“There is footprints in the ground,” the Lady Detective pointed out a moment later. 

“Probably mine and Collins.”

Mrs. Robinson's gloved hands trailed over the imprints in the soggy ground. Three adolescents held their breaths.

“They seem a little small for Hugh.” Phryne's eyes swept up the Inspector's legs in a way that caused him to gulp. “And they are definitely not your size, Jack.” 

The Inspector cleared his dry throat.

“Well, someone else may have taken an interest in it,” he pointed out, dropping down beside her to touch the dark leaves. “But nobody has removed any more than the one branch.” 

“Are you are certain that all of it is in the Herbarium, Jack?” 

He nodded.

“Sadly I am. And according to Professor Altman, the plant can hardly to be found in Australia. Which leaves us with only a few dozen pharmacists and herb traders selling it in it's hundred useful versions.” 

“Quite a coincidence still,” Phryne pondered aloud, accepting his hand. 

“You heard what Raver said. The culprit may have been something else entirely,” the Inspector argued. “Hopefully the lab-results will tell us more.” 

Three pairs of eyes followed them as they disappeared between the trees, quietly fighting over the way they would take to the Station. When they were finally gone, Jane was the first to step out into the clearing.

“So, what do we do now?” Harry asked. 

“You heard them, Mr. Steeger wasn't killed with this shrub.” 

“But it fit so perfectly,” Melody insisted. 

“It did. But when new evidence appears that contradicts what you know, you need to stop holding onto it,” Jane explained wisely. She thought for a long moment. “I believe we should pay a sympathy visit to Mrs. Steeger.” 

X

Mr. Butler didn't turn around from where he was brewing tea, when the kitchen door opened.

“Good afternoon, Dorothy.” He finally turned. “And little Thomas of course. Good afternoon to you too.”

The bub didn't answer, just looked into the world with big eyes.

“When he's quiet, he reminds me so much of Hugh,” Dot sighed, sitting down. 

“He is a little piece of both of you.”

Smiling mildly, Mr. Butler poured tea into a cup before setting it down in front of her.

“Thank you, I actually didn't come over to drink tea,” she said, grasping for the cup all the same. 

“So, what does bring you here?” Tobias asked smoothly while pouring his own cup. For a long moment Dot stayed quiet. 

“I wanted to ask if you could use any help with you know... the house?” 

“Mrs. Robinson has asked me to relieve you from all duties while you take care of little Thomas, Dorothy,” he answered calmly after a moment's thought. 

He watched her nervously playing with the lace wrapping up her baby boy.

“Please?” she finally burst out. “I can clean the bathroom or the fireplace or...” 

Tobias grasped her hand.

“I don't think that will be necessary.” 

His voice was so gentle that it brought tears to her eyes.

“Mr. Butler, I need to do something other than caring for my baby. Please. Mrs. Robinson didn't even ask me if I wanted to go sleuthing with her and Hugh packs me in cotton wool and...” the rest of the sentence drowned in sobs. Rough fingers rubbed the back of her hand tenderly. 

“Dorothy, a child changes things.”

“But, I don't want them to change. I was _happy _as things were.” 

He had to smile at her sulky tone but it was too serious a matter to be laughed at.

“What if she decides to get a new maid? And a new assistant?” Dot asked, when she had caught herself. “I mean, I am completely useless. And she does need someone to help her.” 

Tobias shook his head, wondering if Dorothy Collins really was that oblivious to how Mrs. Robinson felt about her. Not for naught had she bought her a home right next door when the girl had married. She must have always known that the more Dorothy's own family grew, the less she would be able to be her companion.

“I am certain,” he said, taking Dot's hand. “That Mrs. Robinson, just like me, considers you completely irreplaceable.” 

The shy smile he was granted, lifted his heart.

“But if you absolutely insist you may help me dust the bedrooms.”

She laughed a little at this. He knew how much she hated dusting. Tobias leaned forward to tickle the bub under the chin.

“I think you're mother might wish you to cry right now.” 

X

The Station was suspiciously empty, when the Detective's returned. Jack had refused to call by their house and change his shoes. He wasn't certain if he'd have the strength to resist Phryne's proximity in their own home at this stage and he needed to finish work early to take the drive out to Mrs. Stanley's estate. He wasn't looking forward to the evening, but he was Phryne's husband and at least her family connections in Melbourne were very limited. The view that greeted him upon entering the Station didn't improve his mood. He sought out Phryne's eyes, who shrugged.

“Collins?!” 

The Constable grunted in shock, ripping his head from the counter while leaving a thin thread of drool on the report he had been working on, before sleep had gotten the better of him.

“Inspector!? I.. uhhh...” 

“My office Collins,_ now_!” 

Phryne followed, suppressing her amusement, as Hugh Collins snuck into Jack's office like a cat having been caught in the cream pot. Jack fell down on his chair heavily, leaning his elbows on his desk, while the Lady Detective closed the door behind them.

“Take a seat, Constable.” 

Reluctantly Hugh followed the order.

“Sir, I am sorry, I must have fallen asleep-” 

“That's rather obvious, Collins. Now, let me say this clear: I understand that it is hard to be a young father, but the work at the Station cannot be compromised. Imagine someone else had walked through that door.” 

Hugh opened his mouth, but Jack shook his head.

“I don't care for any more apologies, Collins. I would like to know what we can do to help you and your wife cope with the situation.” 

Hugh stared for a long moment at his folded fingers. Then he looked up.

“You're right, Sir. I've been up all night, taking care of Thomas. I wanted Dottie to get some sleep. Not that she did.” 

Jack nodded, sharing another look with Phryne, who stepped closer to touch the Constable's shoulder.

“What can we do, Hugh? Do you need a nurse? I am more than happy to arrange for one.” 

Hugh shook his head, his lips pressed together.

“Thank you, but I think she would take that as an insult. She doesn't want any help.” 

He suddenly sounded close to tears.

“Sir, do you remember 'Desperate's' husband? When we investigated at the Ladies's magazine?” 

“Miss Lavender's death?” Phryne asked. The Inspector nodded. The broken man had haunted him into his dreams for some time. 

“She wrote she'd felt sad and overwhelmed since she'd had her bub.” Hugh paused. “And then she went ahead and jumped off a cliff.” 

Phryne's eyes widened in shock and found Jack look at her, his skin showing a slight tinge of grey. Neither of them had taken Dot's problems overly serious. It was normal that a young mother took a little time to adapt, wasn't it?

“I can't stop thinking about them,” Hugh said. “Ever since Dottie started acting strangely, I hear his voice in my head.” 

The Inspector was struggling with himself. The woman had been driven to suicide because nobody had taken her suffering seriously. Yet, he wasn't convinced that Mrs. Collins really was more upset than was normal for such a great time of change. The Inspector was suddenly very grateful for Mr. Butler's keen eyes and clear head. He wouldn't let any harm come to her.

He looked up to realise that his wife had picked up the phone. Both men waited in silence as she got a connection established.

“Mr. Butler, have you seen Dot at all this afternoon?... She is dusting?” Phryne grinned at Hugh, who seemed relieved beyond measure. “.. No, no, I don't mind at all. Please make sure you keep an eye on her. We are a tad worried.... Thank you, Mr. Butler.” 

Hugh wanted to say something, but she waved him off, instead getting back on the phone.

“Mac, yes, Phryne here. I have a favour to ask...” 

After a short conversation she rung off.

“Mac will come over tonight and have a talk with her. See if there is anything to worry about.” 

The Constable nodded slowly.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Robinson.” 

Phryne smiled. Jack felt the need to push into the sentimental moment.

“Now Collins, I need the lab results from Mr. Steeger's food.” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

Hugh returned outside, bringing back a brown folder a moment later.

“Anything else, Sir?” 

Jack looked up from the papers, to watch his Constable stifle a yawn.

“Get yourself some strong coffee, Collins.” 

“I will, Sir.” 

With that Hugh left. Phryne's eyes stayed glued to Jack as he raced through the report. Then he dropped it on the desk. She fished eagerly for it.

“What was the culprit?”

“Nothing,” he said, before she had even had a chance to start reading. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There was no poison in any of the samples we handed in.” 

Phryne looked up from her reading material in confusion, letting the folder sink.

“It's impossible.” 

“Collins?” 

Hugh appeared a moment later with a still empty cup in hand.

“Sir?”

“Has the Coroner's report come through?” 

“Just then, Sir.” 

A moment later the Inspector was holding another folder, looking exactly the same. This time, his wife snatched it from him before he had a chance to read it.

“No punctures, no cuts,” she mumbled. 

“It must have been the demons then,” Jack stated dryly. 

“Jack?!” Phryne laughed, pointing at the open door, where Hugh had returned to work. “Where are we heading?”

The Inspector was currently grabbing his coat, despite fearing that the suffocating warmth would render that an impractical decision.

“Back to Steeger's house. We must have missed something.” 

Phryne slipped out the door a moment later, her scent brushing past his nose and Jack was rather glad that he was able to flee the building. How he would survive an evening in Mrs. Stanley's company in this state was beyond his imagination. Then something else occurred to him that he had almost forgotten about. He threw a quick look at the phone but realised that it was too dangerous. So instead he said his farewell to Collins and stepped out into the empty street, where Phryne was already waiting behind the wheel.


	18. Pavane

“Miss Ross?” 

Camila Steeger had a hard time to hide her surprise. She didn't often receive visitors at her home and certainly not students from the dancing school. Jane smiled, extending a bunch of flowers, while the other two friends stepped into sight.

“We just came to say that we are terribly sorry,” she lied. “About your husband.”

The widow blinked back a few tears.

“That is lovely of you, kids. Why don't you come through? I've just made tea.” 

They were led through the small home of the Steegers into a tiny sitting room. Music played in the background, getting louder as they approached.

“One of Nicolas' favourite pieces,” Camila said in means of explanation, before stopping the gramophone. “It was the first tango we ever danced together.” 

“Did you fall in love with him straight away?” Mel asked, earning herself an elbow to the ribcage. 

“What? He was very handsome!” 

Mrs. Steeger laughed sadly. “Actually I did. We both did. We looked at each other across the room and I knew I needed to dance with him. Before I had finished the thought in my head, he was standing in front of me, offering me his hand. And by the end of the night I knew we'd spend the rest of our days together.”

She set down the teapot, resurfacing from her happy memories.

“Well, we did.” 

The sudden change of mood seemed odd to Jane, but she searched her brain feverishly for a casual question that would bring her any further in her sleuthing. Nothing would come to mind.

“Has the police found out who did it yet?” she heard a male voice say beside her. 

Jane threw an angry look at Harry, who gave her an apologetic shrug. Mrs. Steeger didn't seem offended by the bold question.

“No, but then I haven't spoken to the Inspector since yesterday and he could have hardly told me much then. You probably know more than me, Miss Ross?” 

Jane smiled. In fact she was rather annoyed. Phryne hadn't been particularly forthcoming with any answers yesterday and Jack she had only seen briefly over breakfast.

“I'm afraid they don't tell me about their work,” she said more truthfully than she'd liked. Camila sighed. 

“Well, then neither of us knows anything much. They have been here to take samples...” 

A knock tore the group from their thoughts. It was a familiar knock and looking for help, Jane stared at Harry. While Mrs. Steeger excused herself to open the door, they shared hasty whispers but came to the decision that they couldn't exactly hide underneath the sofa, just when the Inspector walked through the door.

“Jane? What are you doing here?” a surprised Phryne asked. “And Mel? Harry?” She nodded at the kids, while Jack's face clouded over at the sight of the young man sitting right beside his daughter. 

“We were just making a condolence visit after school,” Jane explained calmly, willing her mother to believe her. She knew from experience that it was really hard to lie to her and even harder to figure out if she'd accepted what she was told. Right now she didn't even flinch. 

“That's very nice of you. We won't disturb you for long, we just have to have a quick word with you, Mrs. Steeger.” 

“Maybe in the kitchen?” Jack asked, with a look at the three adolescents. He had a suspicion that their curiosity had brought them here and he would certainly not satisfy it. 

“Of course. Help yourself to the biscuits, I will be back in a minute.” 

Mrs. Steeger had barely led the two Investigators out of the sitting room, when all three children were glued with the ear to the door. Despite that, it was hard to make out the words in the quiet conversation.

“I fear that I am really not certain what he has eaten, Inspector,” the widow explained. “Nicolas would have for breakfast whatever he desired, mostly toast, but not always. I washed breadcrumbs from a plate when I prepared my own, so it must have been that.” 

“You surrendered that breadloaf to the Constable?” the Inspector asked. Phryne tilted her head at the question, remembering that Jack's recount of collecting the samples had sounded as if he had done it himself. 

“I did, but I also ate from it myself. And I am fine, as you can see.” 

“He had marmalade on it?” Phryne asked. 

Mrs. Steeger nodded agreement. “Either marmalade or strawberry jam, those were the only...” She trailed off, suddenly anxious. “I haven't looked, but...”

In front of two sets of eyes, she started digging through her kitchen cabinet, finally resurfacing with a small jar filled with a dark substance clutched in her fingers. Jack slipped on some gloves before he accepted it from her hands and inspected the etiquette.

“Elderberry Jam?” 

“I only just brought it home on Sunday night, but maybe Nicolas was curious...” 

Phryne took the jar from her husband, opening the lid.

“There is a spoonful missing from the top,” she stated before taking a sniff. “And this doesn't smell like Elderberries to me.” 

Jack mirrored her gesture, grimacing, before he screwed the lid back on.

“Mrs. Steeger, where have you gotten this jar from?” 

She had followed the conversation with big, dark eyes, which were slowly filling with tears.

“It was a present, but I can't believe...”

“Who, Mrs. Steeger?!”

“Mia! It was a present from Mia.” 

X

Mrs. MacAster wandered aimlessly through her sitting room. Her husband looked up, taking another drag from his pipe.

“Will you please calm down? It is not as if we hadn't expected it.”

The fire sparking in her eyes that he had missed for many years in a more intimate setting, made him feel slightly uncomfortable under those circumstances.

“I don't understand how you can be so calm, Ethan!” She wandered out into the hall, turning her eyes up the stairs. 

“Charlotte!” 

“She won't come down any faster if you keep yelling at her.” 

Calmly Ethan MacAster pulled on his pipe, puffing blue rings of smoke over the green sofas. His wife wanted to strangle him for the faint amusement playing around his lips. Their family might be ruined and yet, he seemed too busy wise-cracking to care.

“Charly!” she yelled again.. 

“I don't think she's in, Ma'am,” a tiny voice said behind her. The young maid with the frizzly red hair looked like she was expecting the sky to collapse above her head at any second. “Miss Charlotte has gone out an hour ago.” 

Mrs. MacAster played with her necklace, having the decency to look embarrassed.

“I assume she didn't say where she was headed? No, I didn't think so.” 

The girl made a complicated gesture between a shrug and a curtsey and disappeared.

With a theatrical gesture the Lady of the house sank onto the sofa.

“Well, you have ruined us and our girls are busier with their games than with getting married. What are we going to do, Ethan?” 

He looked up, smiling at her in faint amusement.

“I'd say we keep whining on, my dear wife. It seems to work out perfectly.” 

She looked at him and for a split second he thought she might actually succumb to her long harboured wish to throw an ashtray at him. Then she burst into laughter. He watched her in stunned silence before he allowed himself to join in.

X

“I don't understand! I never gave this to Camila!” 

Jack sat down on the edge of the table, calmly eyeing Miss McGreen.

“Mrs. Steeger says it was left by you in her changing room.” 

“I don't understand, Inspector. I haven't left anything for her either.” 

Jack sat down, folding his hands on the table.

“Miss McGreen, do you have any idea how this jar came into the possession of the Steegers if not by your hands?” 

The dancing teacher thought for a long time.

“I cook elderberry jam every year, Inspector. Every year when I visit my sister over Easter. She has two bushes in her garden of which the branches are so heavy in the season that they almost touch the ground. And I recall a conversation with Camila when I promised to bring a jar back for her next year. But, it's not season!” 

She wrung her hands in a desperate gesture. Jack couldn't help but feel sorry for her, but then, she could have easily been the murderer. Killers generally weren't honest about their doings.

“Is that your handwriting on the etiquette?” Phryne asked from where she was leaning near the window. Hesitantly the elderly lady picked up the glass and nodded. 

“That doesn't make any sense,” she whispered after a long moment. “This is my jar, but I've never filled it with devil's cherries. You have to believe me, Inspector.”

Jack kept himself from nodding, instead looking on seriously as the woman raised a hand to her mouth in sudden shock.

“I forgot. About a week ago, a jar disappeared. I was keeping it in a cupboard in the kitchen.” 

Phryne came closer, this was getting interesting. Miss McGreen looked somewhat embarrassed.

“You see, I have a room above the school. Madame Claudine offered me to be somewhat of a housekeeper last year. Due to my arthritis I am having a hard time teaching anything apart from waltz nowadays.” 

“So you eat in the school?” Phryne asked. The elderly lady nodded. 

“And I kept the last jar of this Easter's batch there. There was barely any left in the bottom, so when it was gone I didn't think much of it...” She trailed off. Phryne picked up the glass, looked at the dark, deadly substance filling it almost to the rim. 

“It appears someone used it to fill it with some jam of their own.” 

X

“It could have been anyone in the dancing school,” Phryne stated. 

“We were already at that conclusion yesterday,” Jack stated dryly, following her up the stairs with his eyes firmly fixed to the steps. Looking at the curve of her butt in this dress was certainly a very bad idea while they were expected at Mrs. Stanley's dinner table in less than an hour and him still having to give his feet a thorough soaking. 

They had left the Station shortly after the interview with Miss McGreen and agreed all the way home that neither of them truly doubted her words. But that brought them right back to the start.

“His wife could be simply lying about finding the jar in her dressing room,” Phryne pointed out, as she took the last step. 

“Or Mr. Riley might have decided to leave a friendly present for his rival,” Jack argued. His wife frowned. 

“What motive could Julian have?” 

“Jealousy?” 

Jack rose his eyebrows provocatively and Phryne smirked.

“You still believe that he was having an affair with Camila?” she asked. 

“It's possible,” the Inspector answered vaguely, making his way towards the family bathroom. Phryne noticed it somewhat startled. In general he used her bathtub or washing table, whenever they got changed for a dinner party. “Maybe they killed him together?” he added, before disappearing and locking the door behind himself. Phryne stood lost in the hallway for a long moment, before she continued on to her bedroom. Surely he couldn't be avoiding her?

The Inspector  _was_ in fact avoiding his wife but for rather pragmatic reasons. He didn't trust himself in the slightest to not succumb to the urge of throwing her on the bed, floor or other horizontal surface and having his way with her as soon as the possibility arose. His little slip-up in the motorcar, enjoyable as it had been, had convinced him that he was about to lose his mind. 

Since the red hot haze of lust had cleared around his brain, however, he had also realised that he felt no desire to be interrupted by an impatient Jane beating down their door, while attempting to satisfy both himself and Phryne in five minutes of alone time. No, he would try to stay calm and in control until they had survived the evening and were back home. Then, all bets were off.

He took a brief, ice-cold bath, then made his way to his own bedroom and was dressed again in no more than a quarter of an hour. Which left him with a moment to take care of something important, while Phryne was still struggling to pick an outfit for the evening. Stepping out into the hall the Inspector listened to the house. But nobody seemed to be in the intent on stopping him just right now. Jack snuck downstairs. Both, the parlour and dining room were empty and with a sigh of relief he picked up the phone. He missed the almost silent steps leaving a bedroom in the upper floor, where Phryne was currently heading for her daughters room to enquire which dress she was intending to wear. She had almost reached the door, when she heard Jack's voice whispering downstairs. Phryne Fisher had never been able to resist her own curiosity and that hadn't changed when she'd become Mrs. Robinson. A moment later her bare feet stood on the wooden stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky ones.

“I know it is very short notice, but I cannot attend tonight. An unfortunate family dinner...” He listened, then laughed quietly. “I will attempt to call in tomorrow... Thank you.” 

The Inspector rang off, satisfied to have sorted his affairs. Upstairs a pale Phryne slipped back into her bedroom. Jane's dress suddenly didn't seem all that important.


	19. Pavane

The soup had barely been served, when Jane decided that she was being annoyed with her parent's silence. Both seemed somewhat absent and there was nothing  like a murder case to bring them out of their thoughts, she knew. 

“So, was the jam the murder weapon?” she asked, forgetting that she was giving herself away. Jack looked at her for a long moment. 

“I don't think that is appropriate dinner conversation,” he said, but to his surprise, Mrs. Stanley disagreed. 

“I have two Detectives in my family, a little bit of excitement at the dinner table should be possible,” she quipped, giving her grandniece a wink. She was in a terrible good mood ever since her son's fever had disappeared. Even though the doctor had still ordered bed rest for him until his strange illness had been fully cured. 

“Well, if you must know, Aunt P, Jane's dancing teacher has suffered a very sweet death by Belladonna jam,” Phryne explained. 

“Most horrible, what people come up with,” Mrs. Stanley exclaimed. “So, have you found out who has done it?” 

“It wasn't Miss McGreen, was it?” Jane asked, somewhat worried. She rather liked the old lady. 

Jack took a sip from his wine.

“Do I want to know how you even know she is a suspect?” he asked, after swallowing. Jane blushed. 

“Well, everybody is, aren't they?” she asked innocently. 

The Inspector grinned.

“Including you and your friends,” he teased. “Particularly, when you loiter around in the widow's house, digging for information.” 

Jane was considering to pout at this stage, but chose to tease her father instead.

“I'll have you know that Mrs. Steeger actually asked me if I knew anything. She complained that she hadn't seen the handsome policeman at all since the first interview, even though he has promised to keep her informed.” 

“I'm sure this was a direct quote,” Jack grinned, taking a spoonful of his soup. 

“Possibly not exactly,” Jane admitted. 

Neither of them noticed Mrs. Robinson staring at them in silence.

“Is something wrong with your soup, Phryne?” her aunt enquired, after watching her for a long moment aimlessly stirring the cooling liquid. Her niece looked up, plastering a smile to her face. 

“Oh, no Aunt P, it's delicious. Have I told you that I have taken up tangoing again?”

The disgust on Mrs. Stanley's face was barely concealed.

“Must you dance this scandalous way, Phryne? It is rather inappropriate to wrap around men like this. Especially in public.” 

“It is just a dance, Aunt P,” Phryne grinned, emptying her wine glass. “And Mr. Riley has created a wonderful choreography for the ball we are to perform at.” 

“Riley? Not Julian Riley?” Aunt P asked. 

“The very one. I thought you might remember him.” 

“His father is on the school board with me. Always tells me what an accomplished dancer his eldest son is.” 

“Well, he is certainly not wrong,” Phryne grinned, glancing across the table at the Inspector. He looked positively steaming. “Mr. Riley is also incredibly handsome.” 

“I believe I do remember him,” Mrs. Stanley agreed. “Very well mannered. And his family is hugely influential.” 

“He will make a good catch for some lucky lady out there,” her niece declared. 

Jack's eyes were dark as the night and glittering dangerously. She was playing him, he could tell, but what angered him even more was that it worked. Julian Riley was exactly the kind of man that he knew Mrs. Stanley had wished for her niece to marry. The Inspector was quite aware that a little police officer had certainly not been Aunt P's first choice, even though his mother's lineage had somewhat  reconciled  her  with Phryne 's decision. 

“I am not certain if Mr. Riley is willing to be caught,” he threw in icily. To his annoyance, Phryne laughed. “That is always a problem with men, isn't it?” she asked sweetly. A moment later the Inspector almost dropped his wine glass, as a familiar foot brushed up his leg. He knew this game all too well, Phryne was incredibly fond of it. But while he enjoyed it when they were alone, it appeared more than cruel to Jack, while Aunt P was sitting at the table with them. 

Her toes left a burning trail in their wake and drained his brain of any coherent thought.

“I think Mr. Riley is in love with someone,” Jane said suddenly. The three adults turned to her, having in all their plotting almost forgotten that she was there. 

“What makes you say that?” Phryne asked, neglecting to move her foot away from the Inspector's sensitive parts and leaving him unable to speak for the time being. Jane shrugged. 

“He is just behaving strangely. Lovestruck.” She grinned at an embarrassed Inspector, who understood her implication. “And the other week he dropped a letter.” 

“Did you see who it was addressed to?” the Inspector asked. He felt hot in his tuxedo and tried to blame it on the still suffocating warmth. Jane shook her head. 

“I only got a glimpse on it when I handed it back to him. But it was definitely romantic.” 

Jack nodded, licking his dry lips.

“About the moon and naked bodies and such,” Jane continued. 

“Jane!” Aunt P. exclaimed. 

Phryne had trouble to suppress a giggle, the slight vibrating of her body transferring through her foot to Jack who had to bite his lip in order to avoid any noises that would focus Mrs. Stanley's disapproval upon him. With his eyes he willed Phryne to stop her games, but she seemed in no mood to do so, almost as if she enjoyed torturing him.

Jack was in a good mind to leave the table and simply end the game himself, had he only been able to get up without being discovered. But as things stood he was trapped by his wife's merciless teasing.

“Well I can't hide evidence, just because it is embarrassing, Aunt P,” Jane happily pointed out. “And terribly written on top of it.” 

“As declarations of love tend to be,” Phryne added, as the soup bowls were removed. Jack tilted his head and gave her a menacing glance, willing her foot to withdraw but to no avail. Mrs. Robinson gave him a broad, red-lipped smile that was as evil as it was fake. 

In truth, Phryne was battling down the suffocating thought that she couldn't shake. Somebody had been lying about Jack's whereabouts this morning and that somebody wasn't Hugh. So either Jack hadn't planned to visit the widow at all or, which seemed much more likely, Mrs. Steeger hadn't wanted Jane to know that she had received the 'handsome  policeman ' in her home and sent him away with a dishevelled tie and a sweaty shirt. Phryne tried to convince herself that it didn't have to mean anything. She herself had been accused in the past of cheating with almost undeniable evidence – yet without having done anything of the kind. If only there hadn't been the whispered conversation on the telephone, she had been able to believe that nothing was going on at all. With a lump in her throat, Phryne positioned her foot more firmly between the Inspector's thighs. She would not let him get away! 

As if for emphasis, a thunderclap cut through the quiet evening. Seconds later, thick raindrops splashed against the windows. Lightning flashed cross the sky.

“Oh dear,” Aunt Prudence made. “The heat was unbearable, but this came about rather sudden now.” 

“I think it was building up for a while,” Phryne taunted. “Don't you think, Jack?” 

He  barely avoided driving the fork into his thumb rather than the carrots, when her toes tightened their pressure, now  squeezed against him almost painfully hard. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, trying a smile. 

“I enjoy a good thunderstorm,” he pointed out, “it tends to clear the air. But this one seems very _violent_.” 

Mrs. Robinson didn't take the hint. She finished her roast in what seemed absolute relaxation, while Jack tried to ignore the pearls of sweat on his forehead. The conversation had returned to less exciting matters, the season change mostly and the Inspector breathed a sigh of relief when the dessert was served and her foot suddenly retreated. By the time they'd had coffee, Jack's body had settled enough for him to dare insisting on an early night rather than retreating to the parlour.

“I am afraid I will have to be up with the birds tomorrow morning, Mrs. Stanley. I do have a murder to solve.” 

It wasn't a lie as such. He really did have a big day in front of him, trying to find out who had cooked up the poisonous jam. And he also wanted to fit in another tango lesson. In fact, he felt somewhat deprived by having to sit through this dinner rather than twirling over a dance floor. 'It's a dangerous drug to take', Madame Claudine's words echoed in his ears. But the much more urgent reason for his wish to retreat lay somewhere else. He needed to have a private word with Phryne. And once they had had that word, he would take her up on every promise her feet had made in the duration of the evening. Every single one!

“If you absolutely insist, Inspector. But I do have a very nice Sherry I wish you to try. At least one glass.” 

His teeth clenched, the Inspector agreed to one glass of sherry. It turned into three, but the sherry was indeed very good. Phryne appeared incredibly chatty tonight, seemingly unable to stop talking about the most wonderful dancers she had shared the floor with. Aunt P listened politely, while Jack tried to not listen at all. He could feel his blood boiling with both anger and pointless jealousy.

Outside the thunderstorm was still raging. Driving home in this weather would not be joyful, it occurred to the Inspector. Jane sat in the corner of a big beige sofa, looking bored.

“You are almost asleep, my dear?” Mrs. Stanley asked fondly. 

“Not quite,” Jane smiled, stifling a yawn. “But I am very tired.” 

She locked eyes with Jack who understood the hint. He was supposed to finally make good on his promise and take them home. He rose from his chair, for the first time noticing the effect of the unusual drink.

“I believe we better make a move, Mrs. Stanley, considering that Jane does have to go to school tomorrow morning.” 

“Of course.” 

Mrs. Stanley brought them to the door, happy to have fulfilled her duties as a hostess to the expected level, when a man hastily rushed towards them through the storm, a coat held over his head.

“M'm, Hennings just brought me news, the road is blocked. The old eucalypt tree that we discussed needed to be removed. It gave way to the storm.” 

“Surely there is another road?” the Inspector enquired. 

“If ya wanna drive a half hour in the wrong direction,” the man said. “I wouldn't advice it in this weather.” 

Before Jack could weigh his options or find Phryne's eyes to establish what she was thinking, Aunt P had come to a decision.

“Oh, nonsense. You will stay here of course. We have plenty of bedrooms. Jane can take the one beside Arthur's. She's almost asleep as it is.” 

In fact Jane was currently silently pleading with Jack. She'd much preferred driving an hour through the storm to sleep in her own bed. The Inspector opened his mouth, but closed it again, when he realised that Phryne was about to say something.

“Thank you, Aunt P. I believe that is the best solution, don't you, Jack?” 

She smiled so sweetly that he feared his teeth would melt at any moment. He gulped, while he felt his evening plans disappear into thin air. Kissing her aunt on the cheek, Phryne bid her goodnight, her dress sparkling in the light of yet another bolt of lightning tearing the clouds apart. The Inspector followed her upstairs in silence. His body ached with every step, if due to the unusual movement during tangoing or because of the tensions building up in every muscle he wasn't certain. He was still thoroughly enraged when they arrived in Phryne's usual guest room. It was vaguely familiar and reminded the Inspector acutely of another night, a long time ago.

“So here we are again,” he said, pausing at the end of the bed, while Phryne turned to take off her earrings. 

“Pardon me?” 

He could barely believe that she had forgotten. He had dreamed of the moment for months, Phryne in her Cleopatra costume, tempting him into “one gawdy night”. It had taken all his strength to resist her bedroom eyes then and even with all of his power he had still scarcely managed to keep his head. Finally she turned and he realised that she hadn't forgotten at all.

“Shall we go to sleep, Jack?” she asked, starting to unknot his bowtie. He swallowed dryly, as deja vu came to him. They couldn't sleep together here, could they? Not in Mrs. Stanley's house with her aunt only a few doors down the hall. But as she looked at him from underneath her lashes, eyes clouded with desire, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wouldn't be able to keep his head this time. He grasped for her wrists, stilling them. 

“Phryne, we need to talk.” 

“Do we now, Jack?” 

Her mouth parted for a smile so alluring that he felt sparks dance along his spine.

“You can't tease me like this, unless you want me to make a fool of myself in front of your aunt,” he said in what he hoped was a dangerous tone on voice. She didn't seem impressed, instead glittering up at him angrily. He wondered briefly, very briefly, what she could possibly be angry about. Then his senses faded as Phryne finally decided that she'd had enough of the games. 

She pulled his hips against hers in the same moment as she brought her mouth to his. Jack literally saw stars as their bodies collided into a wild entanglement of overstimulated nerves. He wrestled her tongue eagerly while his hands tried to find some way underneath her dress. In vain, it was completely sealed from his advances. He settled for grabbing her and clasping her even closer to himself, but realised that he needed to slow down if he didn't want to end this while he was still wearing his trousers.

Phryne had no intentions of the kind, however. Her hand found it's way into his hair, pulling his head back with a painfully hard grip and attacking his throat with her mouth. His adam's apple danced under her tongue as Jack tried to hold on to some sort of sanity, his moans causing her to tremble in anticipation. Phryne had come to a decision: they could talk later, find out what Jack's secret meant to their relationship, but right here and now, she chose not to care. He was her husband, he had vowed his love to her and she would hold him to his promises.

Grabbing for his lapels she crashed his lips to hers again, feeling his fingers fist into her hair as he devoured her mouth. His tongue was urgent, his breath ragged. He wouldn't be able to hold on for long, she knew, but she wouldn't let him get away easily.

Jack's tuxedo jacket had already found it's way to the floor, his vest followed shortly while his hands still sought some kind of entrance to her dress. She wouldn't help him with that, Phryne decided, but yelped in surprise when he just ripped it off her shoulder to bite into her neck. Her shock turned into pure, unadulterated lust a moment later as he worked his way along her collarbone and down to her breasts. He couldn't reach much at this stage, but that didn't seem to stop him. His tongue ran over the silky fabric, flicking her nipple through the thin material and she thought she'd pass out from the sensation. Phryne barely managed to hold onto his back, her nails digging painfully through his shirtsleeves. Meanwhile his hands had finally found the solution to the dress problem and seconds later his fingertips were exploring the edge of her stockings.

When Phryne caught his head into another kiss, they tumbled backwards, hitting a dressing table. Jack used his chance to get his wife onto some horizontal surface and lifted her onto the small wooden cabinet without releasing her mouth, sending perfume bottles and hair brushes flying.

A sharp gasp answered to her palms finding his nipples. Somehow, while he had been distracted by the distinct lack of undergarments underneath her dress, she had managed to open his shirt and now her hands were roaming his naked skin, driving him to the brink with their teasing. It wouldn't do!

Determined he brushed up her dress, exposing the garter belt that was the only form of dress of any consequence and Phryne's groan echoed off the walls when his intentions became known to her a mere moment later. Her finger's weaving into his hair, she sank back against the mirror, letting his tongue take her away from all worries about his faith.

Stars were dancing in front of her closed eyes as he drove her higher and higher, until the tension became unbearable and the stars turned into a white-hot flash of light. On resurfacing, Phryne found him kissing her thigh with a satisfied smirk on his face that caused another flare of anger to spark in her stomach. She wouldn't be soothed this easily.

Jack found himself being dragged into another breathless, teeth-clashing kiss, while she finally managed to open his trousers and he was forced to retreat to gasp for breath. The sight of her, flushed, rumpled and overcome with desire was too much for the Inspector. He was painfully hard at this stage, unable to keep himself any longer from feeling her, despite having hoped to bring her to her knees a dozen times before finishing himself. It wasn't an option, her demanding hands informed him in no uncertain terms, as she pulled him between her thighs.

Her overwhelming warmth caused him to collapse on top of her, crushing her uncomfortably against the mirror, before he managed to brace himself against the glass. A brief glimpse of the wild man in the reflection confirmed his suspicion, he had lost his mind, heart, soul and everything else to Miss Fisher. In this moment there was nothing left of the proper Inspector Robinson. He was all hers.

Had Phryne known about his thoughts, she might have brought her hips to his with less desperation or urgency. There was a hair comb pressing into her butt in this position, but the lust clouding the Inspector's eyes, the suspenders still pressed against his naked  chest where she hadn't managed to undress him yet, completely distracted her from the discomfort. He looked wild and lost and beautiful and the speeding up of his breath let her know that he was nearing the edge. 

“Jack?” she whispered. It took him a long moment to react, but when his lashes fluttered open, his eyes were soft and dark, as they only ever were in those moments. The idea that he might look at anyone else this way was unbearable. She pushed the thought away together with him and the Inspector complied, if grumpily, to her wishes and let himself be completely undressed and shoved onto the bed, where she straddled his lap without granting him any friction. He bucked up against her in hope to find some release, but Phryne just grasped for the bedpost for balance and leaned  down to kiss him gently. The sudden change of pace confused Jack even more than her interruption. 

He touched her cheek, tenderly, trying to discern if there was anything to it, but she just smiled at him, kissing his palm and then she slipped on top of him, rendering any thought impossible. For a long moment Jack just lay in his darkness, unable to move. Only when he felt her find a rhythm did he manage to pry his eyes open. She was so beautiful, it almost broke his heart every time he was allowed to see her this way. Her dress was still tangled on her and his  fingers started to wander again,  tracing a drop of sweat down her neck , which drew a soft whimper from her throat and further to where her nipples pressed through the fabric. He finally discovered the offending button underneath her arm and the soft drapes gave way to let him admire her in full. His hand found hers, weaving their fingers together as she moved on top of him at a  achingly slow pace, their eyes locked, their bond unbreakable. 

Something about it, however, seemed to find Phryne's dislike, because it didn't last. Jack lost his breath when she suddenly sped up, releasing his hand to lean over him, her breasts now in reach of his mouth. She moaned loudly as he took advantage of this and the Inspector found briefly time to worry about the neighbouring bedrooms before she bit into his shoulder so hard that he  dug his head in the pillow with a gasp of pain. 

The glitter in her eye informed him that she 'd enjoyed his display and seconds later, her teeth closed around his nipple, causing Jack to buck up his hips as the sensation shot along his nerve endings. Despite him not being quite certain if he liked the game, he found himself dangerously close to the edge and realised with a start that he wasn't at all ready to jump. 

In a desperate attempt to regain control, he clamped her to himself  and flipped them like a pancake. Panting, he came to lie on top of her. Phryne seemed somewhat startled by this, but wrapped her legs around him as if she needed to force him to stay inside her. There was evidently no need for concern, yet Jack took a moment to catch his breath and retreat from the luring cliff. 

Once he was certain that he wasn't going to explode the very second he moved, he found a slow, steady rhythm, taking his time to drive them both to the brink again.

Phryne squirmed underneath him as he picked up pace, her blue eyes glazed over, a  traitorous  flush spreading over her breasts, yet he couldn't help the suspicion that she stubbornly held on as if she didn't want to allow him the pleasure of seeing her climax first.  Jack leaned in to kiss her and suddenly found himself thrown off balance, as if she was trying to reverse their position again. But Phryne had miscalculated the angle and both tumbled off the bed, taking half of the duvet with them. If she had counted on that to stop Jack, however, she had been wrong. He was too far gone. 

His free arm melding their sweaty bodies together, his hot lips lips pressed against hers, he ardently thrust into her while his fingers willed her, begged her to let go. An urgent cry marked Phryne losing the fight, her head thrown back as her body tensed against him, her teeth digging themselves into Jack's lip when he feverishly tried to silence her with his mouth.

His pain  drowned in a wave of overwhelming pleasure, mixing and twisting  with it into a  magnificent cocktail  that engulfed him, swallowed him . He fell, caught in Phryne 's arms, the world dissolving around them as their  heated  bodies writhed and trembled, finally stilled. 

For a long moment silence filled the dimly lit room, the only sound being two pairs of lungs trying to find some calmness. Then Jack's rumbling laugh came to Phryne's ear and she couldn't help but give a low giggle herself as she came to the conclusion that they were lying on the floor, still a few remainders of fabric tangled on their worn bodies, one of Jack's feet hanging on the mattress and a chaos of clothes and make-up articles strewn across the floor.

“We better think of a very good excuse for Aunt P,” she quipped, snuggling into her husband's sweaty chest. He smiled down at her, then lifted his head to take in the damage. With a grown he sank back onto his hard bed on the floor. 

“Like a grizzly bear breaking in?” he asked, while slipping a damp strain of hair behind her ear. 

“Something along those lines.” 

Phryne smiled, burying her face in his shoulder. With his pounding heartbeat in her ear she wondered if Jack really was capable of betraying her. He was too honourable a man, loved her too deeply. It was impossible, she decided or maybe she just refused to believe it. There had to be another explanation. And she would find out what it was.


	20. Salsa

“Why exactly do you need to have a look at him again? He's healthy, isn't he?” Dot asked, her voice tinted with worry while the doctor was bent over the crib. Mac sighed. This wasn't going to work, she just wasn't at the same level of lying as Phryne and she didn't like it either. 

“Your baby boy is fine, Dorothy. I am here for you.” 

Dot stared at her for a moment, her mouth open.

“For me?” 

“You're family is a little concerned that you aren't coping well,” Mac tried as gently as she could manage late at night, after a long shift and drenched to the bone from the pouring rain. 

“And who said that?” Dot enquired hottly. The doctor now wished she had worked on her fibbing skills. She was rather fond of Mrs. Collins, yet her patience was running thin. 

“Look, it is completely normal for a young mother to feel a little under the weather-” 

“I am _not_ under the weather,” Dot cut her off. 

“Clearly,” the doctor stated dryly. The two women had a silent stand-off for a few seconds until Dot grew tired of her own denial. 

“So what happens if I am a little upset?” she asked. Tommy moved in his sleep obviously sensing the tensions in the room. 

“I think we should talk about that downstairs,” the Doctor urged gently and Dorothy complied with her wishes after a few seconds of thought and led her guest into the kitchen. 

“Would you like some cocoa?” she asked, setting milk and sugar on the table. Mac would have preferred a stiff drink to shake the cold out of her bones but she was certainly not going to say no to something warm. For a while the two women were silent, while Dot boiled up the liquid on the stove and stirred cocoa powder into it. She wouldn't have admitted it, but she was rather glad for Doctor MacMillan's company. Hugh had rang about an hour ago, with the message that he was stuck at the station until further notice due to a tram line being down. The Robinson's were at a dinner, probably trapped at Mrs. Stanley's estate and Mr. Butler had gone out several hours ago with the intent to be back by ten. It was almost eleven and she suspected that he had also been caught by the storm. 

Watching the doctor shiver, she disappeared in the sitting room, returning with a blanket and a bottle of rum, setting both wordlessly down in front of Phryne's friend. Mac didn't hesitate. She could not afford getting a cold, yet going home in this weather certainly wasn't very tempting either. The wood in the stove crackled along happily while the two women sat in silence.

“So, why did they send you around?” Dorothy finally asked. 

Mac took a deep gulp of her heavily spiked cocoa before she answered.

“They are scared you are going to off yourself.” 

Dot frowned, pondering this over for a long moment.

“I am Catholic,” she finally pointed out, somewhat offended. Mac nodded. 

“People get into states sometimes, when they don't care any more what their priests think.” 

Dorothy pondered this over some more.

“And you think I am going to '_off myself'_?” She finally asked, not hiding her disgust at the implication. 

The doctor shook her head.

“No, I think you are struggling with the new situation and you are too stubborn to let anyone help you.” 

“I don't need any help!” 

Mac just smiled without uttering a word. Finally Dorothy sighed. It was rather hard to argue with silence.

X

Mr. Butler stood at the window, once again drawing back the curtains and looking out into the stormy night.

“They will not be silly enough to drive home in this weather,” Riya said behind him. He turned. He was used to being able to read other people, but it still took some getting used to to the being read. He accepted a glass of brandy from her hands and sank down into a chair where Inspector Robinson had sat the last two nights. 

“I am not worried,” he said. She accepted this statement without arguing, instead slipping onto the armrest of his chair and leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Are you going to tell me why the Inspector called you tonight?” he asked her, his voice level. 

She smiled,  completely unsurprised. 

“Because he could not fulfil our appointment due to the dinner.” 

He looked at her for a long moment, then took her hand.

“I am not inclined to tell you what company to keep, Riya, but I'd advice you to be cautious. You are playing with fire.” 

She seemed somewhat confused by his words.

“You don't actually believe me and the Inspector would do anything inappropriate?” she asked. 

Mr. Butler grinned, shaking his head.

“Certainly not. But keeping your meetings from Mrs. Robinson is a dangerous undertaking,” he said. “She is a Lady Detective and may I point out, a very good one.” 

The artist thought about his words for a long moment, then got to her feet.

“I was rather hoping to give her a pleasant surprise,” Riya pointed out, while she laid a vinyl onto the gramophone. Soft swing filled the sitting room. When she turned, Tobias was standing right behind her, extending his hand. 

“Please reconsider the secrecy,” he begged of her, while he pulled her into his arms. “I am fearing for their marriage.” 

Riya nodded, laying her cheek against his.

“I shall talk with him tomorrow,” she promised, as they started to dance. 

X

Mrs. Robinson was woken by the sun boring mercilessly through the window and tickling her in her nose. With a sneeze she regained her senses, taking a moment to orientate herself in the unfamiliar bedroom. Her satisfied body brought back memories of a passionate night that called a broad smile to her face. She stretched her stark naked limbs on the mattress before turning towards where she could hear Jack's breathing. He had struggled himself free during the night, the sheet now tangled around his feet, while he was lying on his stomach, his cheek resting on his arm. He was also not wearing a single inch of fabric and Phryne took a long moment to admire the lines of his back, the curve of his butt and the back of his head crowned with messy dark hair. A big scar crossed his lower back near the kidneys and Phryne couldn't resist to touch it. He didn't move but his breath hitched for a split secon d when her fingertips brushed over his battle wound . While she gently trailed her palm over the muscles of his leg, her thoughts began to wander and suddenly she realised something that all but broke her heart. 

She didn't want to know.

Phryne Fisher had always been curious, even as a little girl. Oblivion had been her biggest enemy  since she could remember  and she had never lost a chance to beat it. Her curiosity made her a great Detective. Now, for the first time in her life, she truly wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Whatever it was that Jack was hiding, it held a great chance of tearing them apart and bringing pain. Maybe she could embrace oblivion? There were many people who did. She looked a moment at the unfamiliar notion, before shaking it off. 

Nonsense! Jack would never betray her and whatever it was, she needed to figure it out before she went out of her mind. It occurred to her to simply ask him, but then he groaned and shifted. She found him looking up at her, his eyes small and blurry with sleep. The moment he whispered “Good morning,” in a low rumble, extending his rough hand to touch her face, she knew she was not going to get a word in edgewise before it was time for breakfast.

X

She was crying. He had never seen her cry before. In fact she was probably the most stubborn ly calm woman he had ever met. And now  sobs were shaking her shoulders , leaving him speechless. 

He knelt down in front of her, cupping her cheek.

“I will think of something. Don't you worry yourself!” 

But his soothing words seemed to anger her rather than calm her.

“Oh, don't be ridiculous! For months we have been hiding, I am tired of your cowardice.”

She brushed him away, when he tried to touch her again.

“Please.” he begged. 

“No. You've waited until it came to this and now everything's lost,” she said, suddenly calm. “It is over. You know it as well as me. Please for once in your life be honest with yourself.” 

She got up before he could say another word, slamming the door shut behind herself. He sank onto the floor burying his face in his palms. He hadn't cried in a long time either. But today seemed a good day to take up the habit.

X

“That thunderstorm last night was incredibly loud,” Jane said, buttering her toast. “Don't you agree Aunt P?” 

“Terrible, terrible storm,” her Grand-aunt sighed. “I got up in the middle of the night as believed I heard a window smashing, but it must have been just some pot in the garden.” 

Jack quietly drank his coffee, glancing across the table at his wife, who was smiling to herself, wishing that he had her calmness. She wasn't even blushing. He made a show of inspecting his watch.

“We had better get on the road, Jane. Please finish your breakfast.” 

They had been greeted with the news that the eucalyptus tree had been moved by Mrs. Stanley's gardener and stable hand by the first break of the morning and they were free to escape at their wishes. Jack couldn't wait to get back to St. Kilda.

“There is no rush,” his foster daughter protested. “We are free from school to attend the dancing classes this morning.” 

Jack smiled grimly.

“While you and your mother will be dancing tango and foxtrot respectively, I will actually have to solve a murder.” 

“Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Jack. There will still be plenty of murder left for me when I join you in the afternoon,” Phryne quipped. 

“I am flattered by your trust in my abilities,” Jack gave back, smiling. She rolled her eyes at him in mock annoyance. 

“Besides, I will spend all morning at the scene of the crime. Who can say what might transpire?” 

The Inspector chose not to answer this. Phryne intertwining her body for hours with a flirtatious dancer was not something he needed to think about in detail.

But neither of the women further argued the point and soon the Hispano shot through the freshly washed landscape towards their goal. It was a beautiful morning and Jack couldn't resist the urge to hum a little melody, which was eyed with suspicion by both Jane and Phryne.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling their stare. 

“You seem... different,” Jane pointed out. “Happy.” 

Jack glanced at Phryne with a mischievous smile.

“A good night's sleep will do that,” he lied. 

“I believe your daughter just called you ill-humoured.” Phryne grinned, snuggling deeper into her seat. The smell of wet grass wafted through the air. 

“That's not what I said! You are always very nice” Jane protested. “Well, unless you are in a bad mood.” 

“You might want to quit, while you are ahead,” the Inspector quipped, keeping his focus on the road. 

“But you do seem unusually cheerful lately,” Jane made her point. She returned her eyes to the landscape, missing the shadow on her mother's face. Phryne's wonderful mood darkened. Here it was again: Jack's secret pleasure that he wouldn't share with her. Whatever it was, she needed to know. In fact, she would just ask him, she decided. But a glance at his watch let her know that now was a really bad time for serious conversations. 

“We are going to be late,” she sighed. 

“I was expected at the Station an hour ago,” Jack pointed out, without that fact spoiling his mood in the slightest. Nevertheless the three took the time to return home, have a wash and get changed. The Inspector felt no desire to show himself at City South with the evidence of last night still sticking to his skin. But what a night it had been. It still made him smile. 

X

“Good morning, Dottie,” Hugh said, leaning down to kiss his wife who was sitting at the kitchen table, feeding their child. He truthfully was expecting a thunderstorm to match the one from last night, after having returned home in the early hours of the morning. To his surprise, his son had been asleep along with his wife and when little Thomas had finally come around to his usual screams of terror, he had been too worn to get up and offer any help that would be denied. 

“Was Doctor Mac here last night?” he asked. 

“She was,” Dot answered calmly without taking her eyes from the bub drinking eagerly. “The poor woman got completely drenched in the storm, but she refused to stay in our guest room.” 

That was obviously all she had to say on the matter and her husband sat down, somewhat disappointed.

“You might have to make yourself some breakfast, Hugh, I will be busy here for a while yet,” Dot said after a long moment. He was confused. She had never asked him to prepare his own breakfast before. 

Then she looked up and smiled. It was a proper, normal Dottie-smile and Hugh's heart jumped in his chest. He scrambled to his feet to do as he was told. For a long moment he vanished in the cabinet, cluttering loudly. Dottie gently rocked little Tommy, biting her lip to keep herself from grinning.

“Where is the teapot?” he finally asked, somewhat embarrassed. 

“It's sitting on the stove,” she pointed out. 

“Oh.” 

Now she openly laughed. Thomas started briefly at the unusual sound. But he decided that everything was perfectly in order and continued drinking.


	21. Lindy Hop

As she rushed past a marble statue of Goddess Aphrodite in the entrance hall of 'Madame Claudine's', Mrs. Robinson had regained her high spirits. Jack was right, the last night had been wonderful and she wanted to hold on to this feeling. She would absorb herself into the dance with Julian Riley and prove to him that she could be a deserving replacement for Mrs. Steeger.

If their tango would turn into pure magic that might even sway the Inspector to give it a try. She found herself daydreaming of teaching the Inspector a leg wrap, when she opened the door. This would demand many, many breaks and a bed nearby, she decided. Her smile faded when she found her dancing partner standing at the window. Something about his posture was different and when he turned her suspicion was confirmed. Julian Riley looked as if he had cried. Now he attempted a smile.

“Mrs. Robinson. Is it time already?” 

“I believe it was time about 20 minutes ago,” she said without a hint of guilt. “Are you all right?” 

“Fine,” he answered, an obvious lie. “Shall we begin then?” 

Phryne agreed and a minute later they were dancing. There was nothing wrong with his technique. Julian Riley had been dancing tango for so many years that there was no thought necessary to move his limbs. But there was something lacking, as if someone had drained the passion from him. After the first attempt he stopped, heading to reset the gramophone, but Phryne held on to his hand bringing him back to stand in front of her. His eyes were darker today, she realised, their usual bright blue looking like a stormy sea. He reminded her of a broken bird, caught in the wind, she pondered and couldn't be helped but be touched by his vulnerability.

“Julian?” she asked gently. He nodded, without moving. 

“We can't do this, if you are not here with me,” she echoed his word from yesterday with a smile. It had been meant as a joke but to her astonishment his eyes filled with tears. He clutched onto her hand harder, wrapping their fingers together. 

“I apologise, it has been a bad day,” he whispered. 

She nodded, unwilling to point out that it was only morning and the day had plenty of potential yet.

He was now so close that she could feel his breath brush over her cheek. As if in trance she watched his eyes flutter shut. His beautiful mouth moved in, almost touching hers. Phryne held her breath, her hand flying up.

“I don't think this is a terribly good idea,” she breathed, gently holding him back by the shoulder. Julian looked at her, seemingly waking from a dream. He nodded, cleared his throat. 

“You are right, of course... Again, my apologies. I seem to make more mistakes today than I care to admit.” 

His words were accompanied by a thin smile as he pulled their entwined fingers to his lips and kissed her hand before retreating. Phryne's worried eyes followed him, her heart still beating in her chest.

“I think we might have avoided that last one,” she quipped, but he didn't answer. Seconds later, Tango music again filled the room and they returned to dancing. She could feel the tension in every single one of his muscles as they moved, but he had somehow overcome his lack of concentration. Phryne tried to shut off her spinning thoughts to follow his lead in complete earnest. Yet she couldn't help but wonder what had caused the melt-down in this beautiful, young man. She thought of the letter Jane had mentioned while she pivoted. Love, it had to be love. 

X

“Fascinating.” 

The big man held the glass up into the light, where it broke in the shimmering liquid, turning it into a shade of purple. Jack didn't feel the need to answer. The fascination of murder was beyond him. In general it tended to be gruesome and unnecessary.

“I've never seen anything like it,” Professor Altman said, finally setting the jar down on his desk. “Would I go right in the assumption that it is made from belladonna berries?”

Jack nodded, retrieving the jar from him.

“You would be correct, Professor.” 

“That's incredibly clever,” Altman said. “You see, the leaves and roots are generally very bitter when they are used,” he explained when the Inspector just looked at him. “But it would make it also a lot harder to kill someone.” 

“How so?” Jack asked, suddenly interested. 

“You see, the berries hold the least amount of toxins. They are still very dangerous but it would be hard to murder a grown man with the amount you would put on a slice of toast. Historically dwale has only ever been documented to be deadly for children who ate the berries out of curiosity.” 

“Yet Mr. Steeger is very much dead.” 

He must have been somewhat dis-positioned.”

“He was suffering of a weakness of the heart, according to the Coroner's report on my desk,” Jack explained. 

“That would do the trick, I fear.” 

Jack nodded.

“So it was someone who was well aware of his illness,” he thought aloud. “Or... tell me, Professor, would it be likely to kill a petite woman with a spoonful of this jam?” 

Altman leaned back, pondering this for a long moment.

“There is no way to tell how much of any part of this plant will kill anyone, Inspector. Every human is different and so is every plant. And as you can imagine there is terribly little possibilities of testing those things.” 

“Of course,” the Inspector nodded. 

“That said, a woman of less weight would of course be easier to kill with the same amount of poison.” 

Jack nodded. It had occurred to him in the middle of the night, listening to Phryne's breathing, that they might have been wrong all along. Steeger was a perfect target, there were plenty of suspects, plenty of motive, but the jam had been left for  _Mrs_ . Steeger. 

“Now, the actual reason I am coming to you-.” 

“You would like to know where one could find enough berries to make jam of them?” Altman interrupted him. 

Jack smiled, leaning back and crossing his legs.

“You are a very resourceful man, Professor.”

The big man frowned.

“I'm not sure if I am resourceful enough to answer this question though, Inspector. I believe it is all but impossible to harvest any fresh berries at this time of the year, even if someone had managed to grow the required amount.”

“Which would make this is a very elaborate murder,” DI Robinson threw in. 

“So we are assuming dried berries, then?” the professor asked. 

“How would I go about obtaining those?” 

The professor hummed. “Leaves and roots are easy, about any pharmacy would have them. But the berries...” he pulled a face. Then his features lit up. “I believe I have an idea, Inspector.”

X

The tango ended, the couple stopped.

“I had better get going,” Mrs. Robinson prompted with a smile. She hadn't forgotten her promise to Jack that she would give him a hand with the investigation. 

“You're development is astounding, Phryne,” Julian said, turning his end to switch of the gramophone. “Steeger was right, tango is in your blood.”

“What have we established about undue flattery?” Phryne quipped, slipping on her gloves. “Now, I'll see you tomorrow? At the same time.” 

“Of course.” 

He helped her into her coat, suddenly serious.

“Please forgive my earlier indiscretion. I don't know what got into me.” 

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” Phryne laughed. “I assume you are not going to tell me what prompted your misstep?” she asked after a moment of silence. 

He smiled thinly.

“Maybe another time.” 

She grasped his hand, willing him to open up to her.

“Julian, if this is to do with the murder, you have to talk to me.”

He shook his head.

“I assure you it is of no consequence to your investigation.” 

Phryne sighed, briefly touching his face.  He pulled away slightly.  It had to be love, there was nothing else that could hurt a man like this.  Blindly looking past his shoulder, she tried to think of something that would make him change his mind, when something else caught her attention. She stared at the picture, then back at the Julian,  then back  to the painting on the wall. 

“How long has this been hanging here?” she asked. Riley turned, obviously startled by her sudden change of subject. He tilted his head. 

“For at least five years?” he laughed. “Do you like it?” 

Phryne chewed on her lip, stepping closer to the  impressionist painting.

„There is beauty in places where you'd never expect it,” she murmured, running her gloved fingers along the rim. Then, to the utter astonishment of Julian Riley, she took the frame from the wall and rushed out the door with it. 

X

The Inspector glanced at his watch as he left the National Herbarium behind. It was almost lunch time and he was very close to the school. If he hurried he might be able to catch Phryne to share his thoughts before he followed the lead Professor Altman had given him, may even be able to convince her to join him. He decided to walk across the Botanic garden rather than move his motorcar. Spring had returned after it's brief absence, the air was mild and several birds did their hardest to  scare any silence away. It was beautiful and Jack felt a strange satisfaction with his life. So what if Phryne was dancing with Mr. Riley? 

Soon he would be able to tango with her himself and while she may  be  dream ing of Julian, she  was  whisper ing his name waking. Her passion in the gone night had  been raw, almost desperate at times, but he had felt her there with him in every moment. During his marriage to Rosie the Inspector had learned to fear indifference. It was like poison, creeping into every corner of a relationship, turning it cold and numb. There was nothing numb about the love he shared with Phryne. 

His step quickened, as the school came into sight. He had missed his wife by a minute, but he didn't know that. Jack's eyes were drawn to a group of people, currently coming down the stairs. He was about to head over and greet his daughter, when he noticed her company. Harry, her and Mel separated from the rest, amongst them Mrs. Steeger. For a moment they stood, seemingly discussing something, then Mel laughed, walking off in the other direction. The Inspector stood on the other side of the road, unmoving, trying to come to a conclusion. He still hadn't talked with Phryne about Harry Taylor, but the fact that the boy was currently wandering off with his daughter, who looked in fact awfully happy, didn't make him feel very confident in waiting much longer. In sudden resolve Jack crossed the street. 

“Hello, Inspector.” 

He half-heartedly greeted Amelie Blair, who had spotted him, while he made his way through the crowd, following Jane and Harry  with some distance. His heart was drumming against his rib cage. Jane was a clever girl, he reminded himself, she wouldn't do anything silly, but then she was also still half a child and love got the better even of grown people - as he knew from personal experience. A pair of confused eyes followed him as he rushed down the street, trying to look nonchalant. 

Phryne, who had just stored the painting in the Hispano, parked somewhat away from the entrance, waved at her husband, but realised that his eyes were glued to a spot further down the road. Mrs. Steeger was hurrying along the footpath, probably on her way home for lunch, followed by a group of giggling students. Mrs. Robinson's curiosity sparked. Jack was up to something! And there was no time like the present to find out what it was. She scanned the street for a long moment, then rushed across it, just in time to see  the Inspector turn a corner. Her heart was beating in her chest. This was certainly not what she had expected to do, she reminded herself. She had been intending to talk this out with him in a mature manner, let him get his say before she accused him of anything. But her feet wouldn't stop. Her aching heart needed to know why he was sneaking a bout in bright daylight. Biting her lip, she pressed herself against a wall as he stopped, seemingly spying around a nother corner. His coat was flapping in a soft breeze. Then he was moving again. 

She pushed herself away from the wall, wishing she hadn't chosen to wear bright red today. It wasn't a particularly good colour  to follow anyone, least of all Inspector Robinson. But his usual ly attentiv e eye seemed  completely  enthralled in whatever he was up to. In fact, Jack was currently watching Jane giggling over something or other Harry had said to her, before grasping  the boy's hand. 

Jack's stomach twisted. He had no idea how far Phryne had educated her on matters of love and sexuality. Surely she wouldn't even attempt the birds and bees speech. He'd almost laughed at the idea, but remembered the seriousness of his quest. If this Harry would touch any more of Jane than her fingers the Inspector would be upon him like Nemesis. He stopped abruptly, when he realised that he couldn't see them anymore. A group of students had shoved between him and them. When the crowd parted again, they were gone. 

A little further down the road, Phryne struggled to keep up. Her heels truly were not meant for chases across the city, she grumbled to herself. And Jack seemed somewhat unsure himself where he was headed. Now he stood, scanning the area and Phryne dove into a house entrance just in time to avoid getting spotted. She was panting heavily as she became aware of the absurdity of the situation. It was ridiculous that she would follow her own husband. Straightening her hat, Phryne made a decision. She would simply walk right over to him and ask him what he was hiding from her.

Jack meanwhile stood in silence. He had lost them. And he also felt like a  complete imbecile. There must be more mature ways to handle a first love for Jane than follow her like a second class private detective. He shook his head, turning to trace his way back to the s chool , but started, when he found himself confronted with his wife. 

“Phryne?!”

“Jack?!” 

She laughed uneasily. “What are you doing here?”

“I...” he straightened his tie. “I was investigating,” he said vaguely. 

Phryne tilted her head.

“Investigating what exactly, Jack?” 

The Inspector couldn't find anything to say. He let his eyes sweep over the area, looking for help and found himself staring at Jane, who was leaning against a house wall with her arms crossed. Her face spelled trouble in capital letters.

“You were following me, weren't you?” 

Jack straightened his shoulders.

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you two are Detectives, who don't trust anyone?” she asked, lifting her chin. Jack and Phryne looked at each other, both opening their mouths to protest. 

“It's ridiculous,” Jane huffed, turning around and walking away. Only now the Detectives realised that they were not two streets away from their daughter's school. They stared at each other as it dawned on them just how much they looked like fools right now. 

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Phryne quipped, straightening her scarf. 

Jack shrugged, feeling deflated, while he started backtracking along the street.

“What are you doing here, Miss Fisher?” he asked her after a long moment of silence. 

“I was going for a walk,” she lied. “It's a beautiful day.” 

“Your sudden love of fresh air wouldn't happen to be connected with Jane's romantic interest in certain young men?” he asked with a grin, offering her his arm. 

“Possibly,” she smiled. In fact, the Lady Detective had been willing to tell him just about anything to hide how much of a fool she really felt. But she was also so overcome with relief that she feared her legs might give out. So this was all there was to it? Jack was being an overprotective father spying on Jane. And God knew how far he had gone and who else he had involved, she thought, remembering his phone call. Half of City South might be parked in front of poor Harry's house for all she knew. She wanted to laugh, but instead she briefly squeezed his arm, wandering back to the car in the best of moods while she listened to him tell her about his conversation with Professor Altman. 

When they arrived at the Hispano he started, staring at the passenger seat.

“Have you gone into art dealing?” he asked, retrieving the painting from it's leathery resting place.

“If I am right about this picture, I doubt we can afford it.”

“So you decided to abandon it in your open motorcar?” he quipped, tilting his head. She merely rolled her eyes at him. 

“I have once seen two very similar pictures hanging in the Louvre in Paris, Jack.”

He frowned, trying to figure out what she was trying to tell him. She grinned, grasping the piece of art from his hands.

“There were supposed to be three.” 

It slowly dawned on him. He stared. It wasn't a particularly exciting picture,  displaying a green landscape with a pond in the front. A frog stared back at him. 

“So, what is this one doing here?” he asked. 

“What indeed? I am on my way to the National Gallery to find out. Unless you would like to join me, Inspector?” 

She looked somewhat expectantly at him and Jack  battled with himself. Her excitement was infectious and he longed to spend some time with her, but...

“The police motorcar is parked on the other side of the gardens,” he finally managed. He inspected his watch. “And I should also follow this lead as well as talk to Mrs. Steeger. If she was the intended victim, the killer might still be out to get her.” 

What he didn't say was that he had exactly one hour to accomplish both, before Mrs. Santi was waiting for him. Phryne didn't seem bothered  by his refusal . In fact, she appeared  to be  in the greatest of moods. 

“I shall see you tonight then, hopefully with news on our painting.” 

She stored the picture back on the seat, pulled him into a brief kiss and  was  gone in a cloud of  smoke and dust. Jack looked after her for a long moment, unable to keep himself from smiling, before he wandered away towards the Botanic Garden. 


	22. Tinku

A bell rang above the door, if you could call the melodic little sound a ring at all. The Inspector felt like he had stepped into a fairytale between the dusty shelves lining every corner of the tiny store. It smelled of herbs and something else he truly didn't want to know about. A bent old lady came shuffling out of the back.

Jack tipped his hat at her.

“Good afternoon.”

“Who are you then?” she asked instead of answering, tilting her head. “You don't look like the people buying here.”

Jack sighed, fiddling for his batch.

“Inspector Jack Robinson.” 

She nodded.

“Thought so. What can I do for the coppers?” 

It wasn't unfriendly, almost sounded like a sincere question.

“I was wondering if you sold belladonna berries here,” he asked. She laughed. 

“Devil's cherries? Haven't sold any in a while.”

“That's rather unfortunate,” the Inspector stated dryly. “I am looking for someone who bought some.” 

The little old lady scratched her chin for a moment.

“I'm wondering... let me think... where have I put them?” 

She started shuffling around while Jack watched her in silence. A part of him expected at any moment for her to speak a curse over him and he would turn into a frog. A frog like the one in Phryne's picture.

The arms of his watch showed him that he was running out of time. Fifteen minutes to race over to Riya's house, Mrs. Steeger would have to wait until he had worked on his dancing skills.

Finally the search seemed to be successful, the woman pulled with a triumphant cry a jar from the back of a shelf. It was filled with small, dark balls, almost like dried cherries. Jack found himself chewing on his lip.

“Well there's your Devil's cherries, Inspector. What'd you want them for?”

“I don't want them,” he insisted. “I would like to know if you sold any and to whom.” 

She squinted at him.

“Why didn't you say so?” 

He wanted to protest that he had, but chose instead to ignore the question when she returned her attention to the glass, humming at it thoughtfully.

“Yes, yes, I would say we sold some,” she finally said. “Quite a few I would say.” 

“Can you tell me to whom?” he asked again, just in case she had forgotten the question yet again. 

“Patience, Inspector. Patience.” 

She set the jar down, again starting to hum to herself, while she stared past his right ear.

“Well?” he finally asked. To his disappointment she shook her head. 

“Wasn't me,” she said. “Must have been my daughter.” 

The idea that this woman had a daughter was somewhat baffling to the Inspector, but he enquired after her anyway.

“She's currently with her aunt, isn't she? Won't be back until tomorrow the poor thing.”

“Right. I will be back tomorrow then,” Jack decided. 

“I'm sure you will,” he heard behind himself, when he turned to the door, “I'm sure you will.” 

He took a deep breath of relief when he returned onto the street with the distinct feeling that he had barely managed to escape life as a frog.

X

A young girl in school uniform sat on a bench, chewing on an apple. Above her, leaves moved in the soft breeze. The sun glimpsed through the green roof, but withdrew quickly when it noticed the filthy mood the adolescent was in. Another girl came rushing across the school yard.

“I'm sorry,” Mel gasped, “they were making such a drama of my coming home, I couldn't get away again.” 

Jane shrugged.

“They are really behaving strangely, my parents. Mother is acting all friendly and father is being sarcastic and mumbling to himself a lot.” 

Jane dug the tip of her shoe into the ground.

“Well, my parents are spying on me!” she finally burst out. Melody frowned, the news obviously too much for her to comprehend. 

“Are you sure?” she finally asked, climbing onto the back of the bench. 

“Yes,” Jane spat miserably. “I noticed Jack following me all the way from 'Madame Claudine's'. And of course, Phryne wasn't far behind.”

For a long moment neither of the girls spoke, until a bird with incredibly bad timing warbled a happy melody into the angry silence.

“That's so wrong,” Mel finally stated with complete sincerity. “They're not even your real parents.” 

Jane huffed. She didn't like thinking about that fact much but right now it helped to be angry. And she really wanted to be furious with them. She had a very good idea what the Inspector was worrying himself about. That her mother would join in seemed particularly hideous to her, considering the talk they had had a few months ago about men. And Jane was neither blind nor deaf. The thunderstorm in the gone night hadn't been half as loud as her parents destroying the furniture in their guest room.

“They're such hypocrites,” she mumbled, climbing off the bench and dusting off her skirt. 

“Where are you going?” Mel asked, when her friend marched towards the gate. “We have maths lessons in five minutes.” 

“You can go to school if you like,” Jane said. “I am going to find out who killed Mr. Steeger.” 

Melody McAster stared after her friend for a long moment.

Then she jumped of the bench herself and yelled: “Wait for me!”

X

Phryne was annoyed.  The self-proclaimed expert for French art at the Gallery had been very nonchalant about her having found a  impressionist painting  that had been considered stolen for many years. In fact he hadn't seemed to believe her at all. And while he had recalled the picture that was, fittingly as  well as unimaginatively, called “Grenouille dans un  étang”, he had made very clear that he certainly was not going to bother chasing after her “flights of fancy” and even consider the possibility of it being anything more than a cheap copy of the original,  stolen  masterpiece. She would have to find somebody else who not only knew art but also was in a habit of listening. Someone had come immediately to mind. 

And so her mood had already recovered somewhat, when she parked the Hispano in front of the large, old house. Nobody answered the door, but then that wasn't particularly unusual. The Lady Detective fished the picture from the passenger 's seat and took a wander through the garden, which smelled heavenly of rose bushes and wild grass. Stepping out  from a group  of  aged  trees she could already hear the music that probably had kept t he household from hearing her ringing. And as she approached the French door gaping in the middle of a wall of wild wine  which covered the back of this beautiful old  building , voices mixed i nto the melody . Riya was laughing. 

“There is no reason to blush. The Argentines call it 'Piernazo'.”

The Lady Detective currently sneaking up to her the window could barely make out a second, much softer, voice, answering. Phryne grinned to herself. She was rather looking forward to finding Mr. Butler in an embarrassing situation. It didn't happen often enough for her personal taste. The music went on and again Riya laughed, before she finally came into view.

“You know, some tangueros are in the habit of pushing socks down their trousers in order to impress their ladies,” she explained, while she twirled around a man who, from the back at least, didn't look like Tobias Butler at all. “I don't think you have anything to worry about there, Jack.” 

Phryne's could feel her blood freeze as she watched her friend's legs wrap around the man's waist, straddling his hip. He had pivoted on that last move, now  facing the garden, yet too enthralled to notice her. She almost dropped the picture as the full truth hit her in the face like a slap. 

A part of her wanted to run, but her feet wouldn 't move. So instead she chose to attack. 

“I'm sorry to interrupt you, Riya,” she said casually. “But nobody would answer the door.” 

Jack looked up, turning white as the wall, despite panting with the effort of the position. Riya turned as well, retreating from her dancing partner with the elegance of a cat. Only someone who knew her well could have noticed the shock etched onto her beautiful features.

“Phryne... I...” the Inspector finally stammered. He gulped, trying to find his composure. “I have a faint idea what this must look like to you but I assure you it is not the case.” 

He wanted to punch himself the very same moment he had  ground out  the words. Phryne smiled in a way that could have frozen lakes. 

“What is it then, Jack? I am curious. Because to me it looks as if my husband was taking tango lessons behind my back.” 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times like a stranded goldfish while Riya, still in complete silence, straightened out her skirt.

“Phryne-” 

She was cut off before she could get a word in.

“The reason I came was this,” she said, thrusting the painting at her friend with little elegance. 

M rs. Santi glanced at the still speechless Inspector, before finally deciding that it  might be better to give Phryne a moment to steam off and concentrate on the job at hand. After inspecting the picture, she looked up  in shock . 

“Where did you find this?” 

“At our crime scene,” Phryne said calmly. “Do you recognise it?” 

Riya gently ran the tip s of her fingers over the  hills and craters of paint.

“Of course. It's been many years since I've seen it, but I don't forget art. Especially not art like this.” 

Phryne nodded grimly, avoiding the Inspector's eyes. Jack felt like a child that had been sent to bed without dinner. Then, all of the sudden, his wife seemed to remember his  existence .

“Have you ever heard of the 'panthère blanche', Jack?” 

He thought for a moment, then frowned.

“The... white panther?” 

“She's a legend amongst artists,” Riya murmured, still staring at the picture as if she had discovered a long lost lover. “A woman beautiful as an angel, light as the sun, and quiet as the night.” 

“Or in less prosaic words, a French thief who is thought to have stolen over 150 pieces of artwork across Paris,” Phryne explained calmly. “Including this one!” 

Jack looked stunned from one woman to the other, his  policeman' s instincts finally  overriding his embarrassment and fear . 

“Was she ever caught?” 

Phryne negated this.

“She got away with many, many wonderful pieces,” Riya said, seemingly waking from a trance. “There was no pattern to what she stole or from where, the French police was lost on her trail. But some witnesses saw her. They described her as an ethereal beauty with hair almost white.” 

“Until her string of theft stopped completely unspectacular in 1910. Hardly any of the pieces ever reappeared,” Phryne finished the recount of events. 

“Until now,“ Jack said quietly. 

In the Inspector's head the wheels kept turning. He thought of a confusing clutter of mixed artwork lining corridors, of the lightest of hair and beauty not of this world. Then he realised that his wife was still staring at him with a sarcastic smile.

“You might want to have a little chat with Madame Claudine,” she pointed out. 

Jack nodded, unwilling to go before he had talked to her, but her face told him very clearly that she was in no mood right now to listen to him. He turned to the door, fully intending to leave, when a spark shot along his spine and in sudden resolve he turned. Phryne didn't see it coming,  and almost stumbled when her  husband caught her head in his hands and kiss ed her with a passion that he had never shown in public before. She stiffened but didn't struggle. When she breathlessly reappeared, he had gone and she wondered briefly if she had imagined the whole encounter. 

Wholly uninvited she sank into a chair, gasping for air, trying to make sense of it all. Riya took a seat across from her, watching her as one would watch a wild tigress that ha s decided for the moment that she  wasn 't hungry. 

“He was going to talk to you. Tonight,” she said, when her friend didn't seem inclined to speak. The Lady Detective didn't answer. The woman sat in silence for several minutes, before Phryne finally had sorted her thoughts enough to ask the question she couldn't shake. 

“Please tell me that it is merely my imagination running wild and nothing has happened in this room but dancing,” she finally said quietly. She looked up at her friend and Riya started at the sight of Phryne's eyes. Her friend looked like her heart was about to break. 

“Nothing but tango,” she confirmed as calmly as she could manage. Again there was no answer. Riya attempted to touch Phryne's arm but was shaken off. 

“As much as I ponder it, I don't understand why he felt the need to do this?” she finally asked. “Why with you?” 

Riya thought about this for a long moment. She was currently living to regret her involvement. But then, she had never expected Phryne's reaction either. It had been a harmless attempt to shake an unhappy Jack out of his misery, give him a chance to impress his wife. She didn't seem impressed in the slightest. Mrs. Santi sighed loudly. 

“He wanted to tango with you. I offered to teach him. And that is all there is to it.” 

She took Phryne's hand, this time successfully, looked her friend firmly in the eye, willing her to understand how much the Inspector loved her, how far he would go to satisfy her.

“He wanted to do this for you!” 

It was the wrong thing to say.  Phryne  snapped shut like a threatened oyster. 

“I didn't need him to,” she said coldly, getting to her feet. “And I certainly didn't need him to sneak around behind my back and make a fool of me.” 

“Phryne, please see reason,” Riya asked pleadingly. But the Detective intended nothing of the kind. She felt raw and sore as if someone had rubbed salt into a fresh cut. 

“Thank you for your help,” she smiled thinly, picking up the picture. “For _all _of it.” 

And with that, she disappeared back into the wonderful spring day and the smell of roses and grass.


	23. Rigaudon

The motorcar slid around the corner, the wheels briefly losing traction on the street. Jack's foot slammed on the brakes, but the cart shoot towards him, completely unstoppable. The horse took a sharp left in the very last second, barely missing him by two inches. The car finally came to a sliding halt and Jack sat, gasping for air, his heart pounding. 

He needed to concentrate, the sober part of him pointed out. He had nearly been wiped out due to his own lack of attention to the street. Had any of his  men been driving like this, he'd have dragged them into his office before they'd caught their breaths. The Inspector started the car again, driving over the cobbles in the slowest of paces. His head was spinning with angry thoughts. 

What terrible timing. Had she only waited another few hours, he had fully intended to fill her into the secret, confess everything and beg her forgiveness for his stupidity. He knew she didn't like being kept out of the loop! He also knew that she could see right through every single one of his lies! And yet it had taken Riya to convince him that  their secret  meetings were  a danger for his marriage. And her wisdom had come too late. 

Jack wanted to smack his head against the wheel in frustration but decided that this was probably not a particularly save option in side a moving vehicle. He was so angry with himself, but, he realised with some confusion, he was just as angry with Phryne. Her complete refusal to talk with him about a harmless dancing lesson was as ridiculous as his own decision to hide it from her in the first place. Jack felt for his still burning lips. His kiss - a desperate attempt at getting her attention. Too desperate maybe. Phryne wouldn't take it well. She didn't enjoy being forced to anything. 

A honking horn ripped him from his thoughts as he almost hit another car. Ashamed and trembling, Jack pulled to the side of the road. He was only a few streets away from his target. Possibly a little fresh air would clear  his head . It would certainly be less lethal. 

Climbing out of the car was complicated by his limbs feeling stiff and sore. Last night had taken it's toll, along with the dancing lessons. Finally solid ground under his feet, Jack wandered along the footpath, trying to shut out the beauty of the blooming trees, the thick smell of flowers in the air. He didn't want spring right now.

He found himself caught in a small street where he didn't recall having been before. Tiny restaurant and shops were lining the pavement, well dressed ladies rushing past him, probably in search of the perfect hat for the coming weekend.

He stopped to look into a window. It was a gentleman 's tailor, the suits on the mannequins certainly costing a lot more than a police officer could afford. Jack's wardrobe hadn't changed since his martial status had. 

Phryne occasionally snuck him a nice shirt or tie, and most important of all, belts, but in general she respected his wish to not turn into a rich man just because there were now unimaginable sums of money to be found in his bank account. Jack gulped, glancing down at his old brown shoes. He liked them, despite them, through the years, having been soaked in more bodily fluids and other gruesome things than he cared to remember. They were comfortable and very much Inspector Robinson.

He took a deep breath and entered the shop. Just a look around. Ten minutes later he re-emerged, a tiny smile on his features. It disappeared a moment later, when he spotted a young woman leaving a nearby building. Victoria Adams hadn't spotted him as she walked off, throwing a look here or there into the shop windows. Jack thought briefly about approaching her, then turned towards the building she had escaped from. The pharmacist behind the counter was an old, friendly looking man looking at his new arrival through a set of thick rimmed spectacles.

“Can I help, Sir?” he asked in a happy sing-sang of a voice. 

“I rather hope you can. You are Mr. Wilt, I presume?” 

Jack fished his batch from his coat pocket and the nodding man paled.

“Is everything in order? Have I broken the law?” 

The Inspector couldn't help but smile at the panicked features.

“If you have, you know it better than me. Now, do you know the young lady who just left your shop.” 

Two white eyebrows knitted together as the man pondered this.

“Are you talking about Vicky?” he finally asked. 

“Indeed I am,” the Inspector said, storing his badge away. “Is Miss Adams a frequent costumer?” 

The man tipped his head in a strange gesture of surprise.

“No, no. She works here. Cleans my floors, dusts my shelves. Every Wednesday and Saturday. She is a very hard worker.” 

Jack nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

“Is she in any trouble, Inspector?” the old man enquired. 

“That depends,” the policeman said. “Do you sell Belladonna here?” 

X

Jane looked up and smiled when the young woman appeared. Mel just kept reading in a small, bound booklet.

“What are you doing with that?!” Vicky asked, her voice holding an unusual shade of annoyance. 

“That's mine!” 

“Oh,” Melody made. “We just found it here on the table and we thought-” 

The booklet was snatched from her hands with no further ado. A panting Victoria pressed it to her chest.

“How much did you read?” 

“Just a few poems. Look, they are really go-”

“You have no business reading my poems!” 

Her voice was now shrill, almost hysterical. Jane couldn't watch the scene any longer. She got to her feet, approaching the girl, who flinched away. She had never seen the piano-player in such a state before. Whatever was in this book, it was very dear to her.

“We didn't mean to intrude in your privacy, Vicky. Truly not,” she said. “It was just lying here.” 

The girl stared at her for a long moment, then looked down at the book, her breath slowing, as she came to a conclusion.

“I must have left it behind, when I went to my other place of work,” she said, looking back at the girls who nodded. “I'm sorry, nobody here knows I write poems and... it's embarrassing.” 

“But they're lovely!” Melody exclaimed. Jane wanted to hit her. 

“You need to forget that you've ever seen them,” Vicky insisted. “Not a word to anyone! Promise me.” 

“We promise!” Jane said. Victoria seemed to be satisfied with that and stored the book carefully in her bag, before grabbing herself a glass of water. Jane watched her in silence for a long moment, then something occurred to her. 

“You know, Dorothy Parker played the piano in a dancing school before she became famous.” 

Vicky spun, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks. But to the girl's relief, she was smiling.

“Was she?” 

The dreamy expression in her eyes caused the girls to look at each other with faint amusement.

“Yes, I am sure I've read it somewhere,” Jane insisted. The sudden animation that came to Victoria Adams was more than astounding. She sat down and started talking. About poetry, about the people she most admired, about her own discovery of the magic in words. Jane listened with astonishment. It was a if someone had opened a dam to Vicky's heart and now all the words poured out of her. Forceful, unstoppable. If she writes like this, Jane caught herself thinking, she might actually be famous someday. 

X

„Bring me some tea, please, Mia,” she said, turning to head into her office. Then she stopped cold. On the edge of her desk sat a pale, angry Inspector Robinson, looking at her in forced calmness. 

“Tell me, Madame, what's the name of this little statue?” he asked. A pair of shocked eyes stared at him as Claudine Germain weighed her option. 

“It's goddess Diana,” she finally said, “As an unknown artist imagined her over 2000 years ago and I would be very careful with that. She is worth more than even you can afford, Inspector Robinson.” 

Jack raised his eyes brows at the tiny marble statue.

“Is she now?” 

He rolled it between his hands, watching Madame Germain flinch.

“I assume in this case the rightful owners would like to have her back, don't you?” 

“I guess so,” the Lady said sharply, taking the statuette from him and gently setting it down on her desk. With a sigh Jack rose from the desk and waved her to her chair, before sitting down himself. 

“Start at the beginning,” he said. 

Madame sank in her chair, her dark eyes glued to him. They were definitely violet, Jack realised. There was no doubt about it.

“My family was running a small art shop in Montmartre. My father fancied himself a painter and my mother loved him too much to tell him any better.” She smiled. Jack waited patiently, but his hands were fluttering on his lap. He felt himself drifting off, towards more important things. What to tell to Phryne, how to talk to Jane? 

“But mostly they bought and sold young artists work, often copies of famous paintings and sculptures. I will tell you the truth, Inspector, I wasn't much interested in what they did. I wanted to be a dancer. I hadn't gotten very far with this dream when my parents died.” 

Jack snapped out of his thoughts, when he heard the first real emotion in her story.

“I was barely 18, with my head in the clouds. My sister Esther, however, had learned from my mother and she also understood a lot better than me that we needed money to survive. So we continued dealing with statuettes and paintings. I would stand behind the counter and dream of the world and she would go and barter with artists. Or at least that's what I thought she was doing.” 

Jack had a vague idea where this was headed and leaned back in his chair, trying to concentrate.

“Our shop survived two years. We weren't rich, Inspector, but we lived well of what we made. And then, some morning I stumbled over a newspaper that reported the theft of a painting from the Musée Nationaux. I knew that a very convincing copy of it was hanging on my wall in the shop.”

Jack nodded.

“Hidden in plain sight,” he mumbled.

“My sister was always very clever, but I hadn't anticipated her to be a master thief. I was in for a little bit of a shock,” Madame Claudine smiled.

“I can imagine,” Jack stated dryly. “But you chose to embrace it?”

Madame Germain shook her head.

“Not at first, no. In fact, we had the row of a lifetime. I threatened her with anything from the police to never speaking to her again, if she didn't stop.”

“But she wouldn't?”

“She did! Or at least I think she did. Two weeks later I woke up and she had disappeared. And along with her every piece of artwork that we had to our name. She only left me an envelope with a letter and a bundle of franc. I won't tell you how much it was, Inspector, but it was an immoral sum.”

“I assume you didn't go to the police then?” Jack asked. Madame leaned back in her chair. 

“Of course not. I was young and I wanted to see the world. For the first time there was nothing to stop me.”

“What happened to your sister?” 

Claudine sighed, playing with the little statuette herself now.

“I don't know. Neither of us had an address so we never managed to get in touch again. At least that's the reason I am trying to convince myself of. About seven years ago, the police finally tracked me down with news of my sister's death. Esther found her last rest somewhere near Santa Cruz on the island of Tenerife. And guess how shocked I was, when I accepted her estate?” 

“She never sold it?” Jack asked, glancing at the red flowers hanging on the wall behind his opposites head, wondering if it would cost more than his house.

“Some of it certainly. I guess it would have been hard to sell any of it for a decent price without giving the truth away. And during the War people had other worries than what to hang on their walls.” Madame Germain got to her feet, grabbing a small painting from her mantelpiece and handed it to the officer. Esther looked very much like a younger Claudine, very blonde and incredibly beautiful. 

“But I think that maybe she just really loved those pieces.” 

“That would explain why her choices lacked any rhyme or reason,” Jack mumbled towards the picture, before setting it down. “But not why you chose to hang them in your school, rather than call the police. You must have known they were still missed in France.” 

Madame Claudine had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“After all those years, people have gotten used to them being absent. And what was I going to tell the police? That I was the sister of a legendary thief, who is believed to be as real as a unicorn?” 

“You could have tried,” the Inspector threw in. He was growing tired of the excuses people used to explain their crimes. Madame started at his icy tone. Then she nodded. 

“You're right, of course, I could have.” She paused in thought, looking at a abstract painting hanging over the mantelpiece. “Those pictures cost me my sister. I guess I... wanted something from her.” 

Jack thought of Janey. The pain an absent sister had left in people's life. He could understand. But he was also a police officer.

“You will have to take them away now?” Claudine Germain stated calmly, as if reading his mind. 

“I fear so,” Jack said. “But there is another question I would worry a lot more about right now, Madame Germain.” 

Claudine looked up at him, snapping out of deep thoughts. The Inspector leaned forward, folding his hands on her desk.

“How much did Nicolas Steeger know about your little secret?” 


	24. Kazbeguri

The Inspector had barely managed to return behind his desk when the door flew open, Miss Fisher storming in, an embarrassed Constable behind her gesturing that he hadn't had a chance to stop her. Jack waved him away. He couldn't help but be glad that Phryne was still talking to him.

“Have you arrested her?” she asked instead of a greeting, sitting down on the edge of his table. Jack tore his eyes from a very interesting pencil and looked up at her with fake calmness. 

“That would have been rather premature.”

“She's an art thief! The pictures hanging in her halls must be worth thousands upon thousands of pounds. Surely that warrants a night in your cells?”

“Her sister actually,” Jack pointed out, apparently untouched by her agitation. “Her dead sister, I should add. Madame Germain has been merely keeping her estate.”

The Inspector allowed himself a smile as he watched Phryne pout. This exchange turned out to be surprisingly normal.

“And you are just going to take her word for it?” she challenged him.

Jack tilted his head slightly in a gesture that she knew all too well.

“For the time being. The paintings are currently on their way to the National Gallery to be inspected and catalogued and then we might know more. Until then we still have a killer to find.”

“Did Steeger know about Madame's dirty little secret?” Phryne asked, digging for something exciting.

“She whispered it into his ear in a night of passion some years ago. And yes, he did try to blackmail her.”

“A charming young man indeed,” Mrs. Robinson grumbled. “No respect for the sanctity of a bedroom.”

Jack smiled grimly at her without going further into the subject, instead continuing: “In fact their mysterious meeting on Monday morning was regarding his returning memory. Luckily for her he dropped dead before he could expose her.”

“So she poisoned him?” Phryne asked.

“Unlikely. A murder by jam would have taken quite some time to cook up.”

“A terrible pun, Jack,” his wife scolded and the Inspector shivered with delight at her bantering.

“But there is the possibility that it hadn't been the first time he mentioned it to her,” she said, playing with some paperwork on his desk. “She may have had years to plot his demise.”

Jack pretended to ponder this for a moment.

“A fair argument, but a tad flawed. For one Madame Germain strikes me as too smart a woman to make an attempt on somebody's life and then invite him into her office to discuss the motive,” Jack pointed out, taking the papers from her.

“And point two?” Phryne asked.

“I am wondering why Mr. Steeger would have waited all those years to blackmail his old friend.”

Phryne crinkled her nose in thought.

“You think he is in some sort of financial strife?”

“Many people are,” Jack pointed out. “Either way, I have sent Collins out to Steeger's bank. They tend to be a little complicated on the telephone.”

“I might try and talk with Mrs. Steeger then,” Phryne decided. “Surely she would know her husband's finances.”

“I wouldn't bet on it. But since I still haven't managed to talk to her, would you please mention the possibility of her being the intended victim?”

“It will be my pleasure,” Phryne quipped.

He grabbed her arm as she tried to jump off the desk.

“Gently, Phryne!”

She shot him a look that made very clear that he was not forgiven at all, but that she currently decided to be professional. Reluctantly the Inspector released her.

“I am always gentle, Jack!” She threw a last look over her shoulder. “Which reminds me, I have asked Julian for an additional session tonight to work on my 'Piernazo'. Please notice that I am informing you of the fact that I am meeting another man to dance.”

She was gone before he could answer. Jack sat down, allowing himself for the first time to give into his frustration. When he stopped banging his head against the desk he found a startled police officer looking at him.

“Jones? What have you got for me?”

The young man took a moment to rediscover his voice, before he answered the question.

“Sir, do you remember how you asked me to determine if Miss Green’s background story is holding up?”

“Yes, I do, Constable.”

“Miss Green does have a sister and she is visiting her every year at Easter, Sir.”

Jack found this anticlimactic information rather annoying, but he managed a friendly: “Good job, Jones.”

A moment later he realised that the Constable was still standing in the door.

“Sir?”

The Inspector sighed.

“What is it, Jones?”

“I looked a little further into Miss Green’s past and I found this, Sir.”

He laid a snippet of newspaper in front of the Inspector. Jack picked it up, holding it up against the light.

“Where did you get this?” he asked breathlessly.

“I found a small note and decided to look up the archives. It seemed impor-”

“Never mind, Jones. Get her in here. Right now!”

X

When Mrs. Steeger answered the door, Phryne once again was bothered by the same question which crossed her mind every time she came face to face with the widow: how did a woman who had lost her husband only two days ago be this annoyingly beautiful? She herself had merely caught her husband sneaking about behind her back and Mrs. Robinson suffered the niggling suspicion that just about anyone could tell how flustered she was.

To her credit, Camila currently wore a decent amount of fabric in an appropriate colour and fashionable design. Yet, the black dress seemed to enhance her curves rather than hide them. Considering that she had only accidentally been involved in the web of Jack's deceiving, Phryne decided that she would make an attempt at liking the woman. Or at least disliking her a little less.

She was a witness after all, possibly even innocent.

“Pardon me?” Phryne asked, realising that she had been asked something. To her surprise a cup of tea had appeared in front of her and somehow she had ended up on the Steeger's sofa. 

“I was wondering if there was a reason for your visit, Mrs. Robinson?” Camila asked, a slight smile around the corners of her lips revealing that she was amused. Phryne had to hold on to her resolution tightly.

“My husband happens to believe that you might have been the intended target of the murder,” she said without any hint of gentleness. Mrs. Steeger gaped at her for a long moment and Phryne couldn't help her inner self smirk in satisfaction. She had found something to throw this unshakable woman.

“Can you think of anyone who might hate you?” she asked in completely fake friendliness. Watching Camila's cup clatter in the saucer where a pair of shaky hands tried to set it down, brought Phryne back to earth. She had given into the temptation of being unprofessional and that enraged her on top of everything else. Her interview-partner meanwhile cleared her throat.

“May I ask how the Inspector came to this conclusion?” the widow asked coolly.

“Well, the jam was left for you, not your husband for one,” Phryne explained in an equally cold tone of voice. The two women glared at each other in strained silence. Then something happened that Mrs. Robinson had never expected: Camila burst into tears. And to make things worse, Phryne could feel tears prick at the back of her own eyes, a lump so huge she was surprised she could breath strangling her throat. Determined she fought down both, the sobs and the urge to flee the building in an effort to hide her emotions. Instead she waited patiently until the crying dancer had recovered from her untypical outburst. Finally the woman stopped, wiped her tears away and smudged her make-up in the process. 

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Robinson. That was a rather embarrassing display.”

She smiled and Phryne felt her hostility crumble. So what if Jack had stared at Mrs. Steeger like at a new shilling lying on the street? It was hardly her fault that she was an attractive woman – even though said beauty was currently somewhat challenged by the black smudges underneath her eyes. 

Phryne pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, handing it over to Camila who was currently trying to hide her embarrassment by fixing her make-up – an attempt that only resulted in more smudging. 

“I believe crying is in complete order after losing one's husband,” the Detective said kindly. Camila just shot her a watery smile before ruining the handkerchief forever with her make-up. 

“Sometimes it is quite unbearable to be without him,” she whispered after a pause. “At other times I want to kill him all over again for leaving me alone.”

Phryne nodded, understanding those mixed emotions better than she cared to admit.

“Mrs. Steeger, do you believe it possible that your husband was not the target?” she asked after a pause, unable to shake the word 'gently' from her mind. Camila shrugged. 

“That would make me directly responsible for his death, wouldn't it?”

Phryne smiled thinly. “The only person responsible for his death is his murderer.”

“You don't know how much I wish I hadn't taken this stupid jar home, never had this conversation with Miss Green...”

She wrung her hands, taking a deep breath.

“I doubt that anyone has intended to kill me but if you ask this directly, there is only one person I can imagine has an interest in ridding herself of my presence.”

Phryne waited with bated breath. She knew the name before it was spoken.

“Madame Germain is not fond of me, in contrast to her emotions for my husband I am suspecting.”

Phryne nodded and took a sip from the cooling tea cup before asking: “Do you believe your husband reciprocated her feelings?”

Camila Steeger had to think about this. She actually had very intelligent eyes, Phryne realised, even though it was hard to not be distracted by her more obvious advantages. Dark and deep, they seemed to cut through to your very soul. She was also wondering if Camila could tell how little she cared for the murder right now. How her mind was still racing back to the picture of Jack wrapped around Riya of all people. Riya? How ridiculous!

Even more hideous was the fact that Phryne believed her friend, trusted down to her bones that truly nothing had ever happened between those two other than the innocent act of dancing.

That was possibly the worst part.

Had Jack been cheating as most men did, with his body, even with his heart, she could have rightfully despised him for it. But now she just felt silly for the deep upheaval his betrayal had left her in. 

“I don't believe he loved her, but there was something between them that I've never understood.”

With a start, Phryne realised that she had lost the conversation.

“I'll be honest with you, I wanted to get away from this woman. Call it jealousy if you must but I was not going to share my husband any longer and I was growing tired of her false friendliness.”

“What were your husband's thoughts on the matter?” Phryne asked automatically.

“He didn't appear to understand my reservations. But then Nicolas was never a man of deep empathy.”

The widow smiled, draining her cold tea.

“Despite her dislike, Madame Germain decided to appoint you the dance at the ball?” Phryne enquired after a long moment. “Along with Mr. Riley?”

A short laugh answered her.

“Truthfully she does not have many options. Her school has suffered under the recession, there are more important things on people's minds than dancing. She had to let go two of us about three months ago.” Camila smiled sadly. “But it also felt like one of her games,” she added after a moment. “You may call me paranoid if you wish, Mrs. Robinson, but I believe she counted on separating Nicolas and I on the dance floor bringing havoc to our marriage.”

“Did it work?”

Mrs. Steeger shrugged her slim shoulders.

“He was furious. At first with me, but in the end he understood my reasoning. We rekindled our love in our last night together.”

There was a faint flush appearing on Camila's cheeks that wasn't quite enough to be a blush, yet made her implications more than clear. “But his anger focused on her. I believe he intended to see her in the morning he collapsed.”

Phryne watched her with curious eyes, wondering how Nicolas Steeger had managed to enthrall those two women so wholly and completely. She remembered him well, the feel of taunt muscles under his shirt, the fire in his eyes, the sweat on his brow. She also recalled that she hadn't liked his aftershave and that his overly gallant ways had slightly taken her aback at the start of the conversation. In fact she remembered him not being particularly interesting to her until she had experienced him dancing. So, maybe that was it. The secret of Nicolas Steeger's irresistible charm lay in his tango.

No wonder Jack wanted to be a tanguero. It certainly impressed the ladies, including Riya, judging from her flushed features when the pair had been interrupted. Phryne bit her lip in an attempt to snap herself out of the ridiculous spikes of aimless jealousy that she couldn't seem to shake off.

“Mrs. Robinson?”

Phryne realised that she was being watched and nodded her head, recalling the topic they had discussed.

“He did see his employer on Monday morning but I am afraid it was not to discuss the ball,” she mumbled. “Your husband was trying to blackmail Claudine Germain.”

A pair of dark eyes widened in shock, getting even wider and more disbelieving as Phryne explained the connections.

“But... I don't understand.” Suddenly there was a change in composure, a visible shift in Camila Steeger's thoughts. “Dear God, I demanded he find a way of making ourselves independent from her help. But not by blackmailing her!”

Phryne smiled grimly. Independence by turning the tables. Madame Germain had played with fire and burned her fingers.

“Is that her reason?” Camila asked into her thoughts. “Did she kill Nicolas?”

Mrs. Robinson pondered long and hard how to answer this question. She was not personally opposed to Madame Claudine being the murderer, but then there was little evidence and she begrudgingly had to admit that Jack had a point. Finally she shook her head.

“There is little to prove her guilt. But so far there is no real evidence pointing to anyone in particular.”

Camila chewed on her lips as she thought about this.

“It must have been her. Who else would have a motive? The children hardly, Vicky barely spoke a word with either of us, the girl is so enthralled in her music. Which leaves only Julian and what motive could he have?”

“Jealousy?” Phryne asked. Mrs. Steeger laughed bitterly.

“That's ridiculous. Despite their differences, Julian worshiped Nicolas. He would never have hurt him.”

“What about Miss Green?” Phryne asked, sorting the odd wording away for later inspection. But her opposite just shook her head in protest. 

“Mia Green couldn't hurt a fly!”

X

“Miss Green, you have neglected to mention that you stood trial for an attempted murder in 1902.”

The old lady nodded her head, causing a grey lock to bob.

“You were bound to find out earlier or later, I guess,” she said calmly. 

Jack sat down, folding his hands on the table.

“You attempted to kill your fiance?”

Mia Green smiled.

“I was never convicted,” she pointed out. Jack's jaw clenched. That was not exactly a denial.

“Due to a lack of sufficient evidence. I spoke to Mr. Happ half an hour ago. He is to this day convinced that you had laced his food with rat poison.”

A pair of hands waved through the air in a complicated gesture.

“Charles is an incurable melodramatic, Inspector. Nevertheless I've never tried to kill him or anyone else.”

“So, you deny that you made an attempt on Mr. Happ's life?”

“I deny that very much, Inspector. He suffered arsenic poisoning but certainly not by my hands. My suspicion that I also convinced the judge of, was that he simply hadn't pay enough attention when killing the rats in his shed. He is a very careless man and I am truthfully astonished that he has managed to survive until this day.”

The greyish eyes of the dancing teacher glittered dangerously. Jack found himself somewhat surprised. He hadn't expected the friendly old lady to show this amount of passion any more than he truly suspected her to be a cold-blooded killer. 

“But at least the whole ordeal kept me from the mistake of marrying,” Miss Green stated calmly. Jack struggled to keep his head on the subject at hand. His marriage was not something that needed thinking about in the middle of an interview. Yet he couldn't stop. Phryne's expression standing in that French door was haunting him.

“I am assuming that you also deny any involvement in Nicolas Steeger's demise?” he asked.

“Naturally.”

There was silence for a long moment, then the lady straightened her back.

“Look, Inspector. I have told you everything there is to say. Charles' delusions have nothing to do with poor Mr. Steeger. Why would I kill him?”

Jack sighed, leaning back in his chair

“That is a very good question, Miss Green. Back then the motive that was suspected were Mr. Happ's indiscretion.”

Miss Green smiled grimly.

“If by indiscretion you are referring to me finding him entangled with my sister - that sort of thing certainly could drive a woman to distraction, Inspector Robinson. But to tell you the truth, I didn't care enough for Charles Happ to go to such drastic measures. Our engagement was a matter of convenience and it ended with as little pleasure as it had begun.”

Jack measured the elderly woman with his eyes, trying to discern her honesty. There was some defiance but mostly he saw a woman who had used the chance to escape the prospect of an unhappy marriage and willingly spent her life alone. Just like Phryne had intended to until he had interfered with that wish, it occurred to him. It wasn't a particularly comforting thought. While he couldn't imagine Miss Fisher starting to sprinkle rat poison into his tea, he feared her reaction to his own 'indiscretion'. Her coldness worried him more than anything.

Jack resolved to talk to her as soon as he reached home. A glance at his watch showed that he was already late for dinner and he found himself briefly torn between dread and the urgent need to speak with his wife.

“Are we done here, Inspector?”

Jack cleared his throat, returning to the small, dimly lit interview room.

“You are free to go, Miss Green. But I'm sure we will have another chat.”

“Doubtlessly,” the lady said with a hint of a smile, getting to her feet. “Goodnight, Inspector.”

“Goodnight,” Jack mumbled absent-mindedly. He sat still until Miss Green had left, pondering what on earth he could say. Then he jumped to his feet and rushed out the door.


	25. Jive

Screaming greeted the Inspector when he Mr. Butler answered to his knocking.

“I'm terribly sorry, Sir, but I fear dinner is not quite ready yet,” the servant said loudly, trying to rock the baby boy and take the hat from the Inspector at the same time. Jack ignored his attempt and hung up his street clothes himself, before turning to the other man, who was pointlessly trying to soothe the upset infant.

“I am not particularly hungry, Mr. Butler. But I would like to speak with my wife?” Jack inquired, over the whining of little Thomas.

“I'm afraid she hasn't returned yet,” Mr. Butler replied, his voice rising to higher volumes.

Well, that was certainly threw a spanner into Jack's plans.

“How about my daughter?”

“Miss Jane has telephoned that she is at the MacAster's house and isn't sure when she will be returning.”

Jack stood in the hall, suddenly feeling lost all over again. How could he sort things if nobody would speak to him?

“And the Collins aren't home either, I suspect?” he asked.

“Pardon me?”

“His parents?” he asked louder, while the baby squealed.

“Constable Collins has decided to take his wife out for a night in town!” Mr. Butler yelled over the baby boys head. “I am afraid I am not quite as good a governess as hoped.”

“I think you are are doing just fine, Mr. Butler!” Jack yelled back.

“Pardon, Sir?”

“Never mind, Mr. Butler! But I believe there is something burning!”

“Oh dear, the gratin!” Tobias sighed, looking for a way to rush off and possibly safe a part of dinner. He looked rather flustered, the Inspector noticed with some amusement. He had never seen Mr. Butler anything but completely calm before and it somewhat soothed him that even the servant occasionally had a weak moment.

“Give him to me,” he offered, gently accepting the child in his arms, who forgot to cry for a long moment in confusion before continuing at a greater volume. The Inspector smiled down at the baby boy, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, while the Butler disappeared in the dining room.

“Now, what shall we do with you?” he asked Thomas, wandering into the parlour. “You are rather noisy.”

The baby didn't seem worried about that in the slightest and kept screaming at the top of his lungs. The Inspector's eyes swept over the parlour, looking for any help. The sight of the piano sparked a thought in his head, a suspicion. He smiled, walked right past it and headed for the gramophone currently dusting along in the corner. He pulled the first vinyl out of it's sleeve one-handed and blindly. It didn't really matter he guessed. The music was certainly not as soothing as he had hoped. Instead the joyous jazz number brought back memories of Phryne dancing through her parlour in a silver dress, sparkling and alive, the heart of her party. And he had just stood, unable to tear his eyes from her, unable to leave as he should have, unable to join her. Watching from the outside as the world spun around her.

Sometimes Jack wondered if that had been the moment he had fallen in love with her. He had never found the answer to that question but he recalled in vivid clarity the intoxicating feeling of enthralment as he had watched her dance. Phryne Fisher had been born to be in the centre of a room, and somehow he had managed to stumble in with her, still blinking into the bright light like a newborn baby.

He snapped out of his thoughts to realise that he was holding a much more literal version in his arms. The little boy had calmed down somewhat but was still whining just loud enough to give him a headache. Jack grinned as his feet started to recall steps. Humming to himself, he danced, twirled in the middle of the parlour, a stunned Thomas finally giving up on being grumpy. Maybe it didn't matter how he had ended up here, Jack thought, only that he had?

When the piece ended he became aware of two pairs of eyes watching them. Embarrassed, Jack stopped. Thomas complained and the Inspector rocked him mindlessly while he tried a smile towards Jane, who angrily scowled at him. The lump in his throat grew to a suffocating size. Phryne on the other hand was smiling in the tense way she used if she didn't want to scream, despite very much wanting to.

“Dinner is served.” She glanced at the child he was still rocking on his arms. “Whenever you two can tear yourselves away.”

She left without another word. Jack tried to hide his unsettled feelings by laying the baby into the crib, which seemed to magically appear everywhere in the house these days, and turned to find Jane still staring at him.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked, just to say something.

“I was, until I realised that I am being followed,” she answered coldly. Jack felt a sweat breaking out as he stared at her.

“I fear that was rather silly of me,” he finally admitted quietly. He swallowed, trying to explain. “I was worried about your connection with this boy.”

“You don't know Harry. He is very nice and incredibly funny!”

Jack wrung his hands.

“I don't doubt that he is, but you are merely 16 and...”

He trailed off, blushing at all the things he couldn't bring himself to say.

“I have been able to take care of myself all my life. There is no need to spy on me!”

The Inspector discovered tears shimmering in her eyes and was deeply ashamed of himself. He made a step towards her.

“I am your father, Jane. It is my duty to worry!”

Jane glittered at him angrily.

“No, you are not! I don't have a father! You're only a legal guardian!”

Jack stared at her, his mouth still open in an attempt to explain his thoughts, apologise, make this right. The words took a moment to sink in.

He had never expected the truth to hurt this much.

As it burned a glowing trail through his chest, he struggled for control over his emotions. But his voice was cold as ice when he managed to find words again.

“I don't want you to see him again,” he heard himself say as if through thick glass. His legs were trembling, but mostly there was just complete nothingness.

“You have no right to forbid it!” Jane spat, turning on her heels and storming out of the room. Jack sank onto the edge of the loveseat, rubbing his lips in an effort to find some comfort.

“That didn't go terribly well,” he heard an upbeat voice say. Phryne stepped into the parlour, extending a hand that held a glass of wine. Jack accepted what he hoped was a peace offering and drained it in one gulp.

“I have made a mistake,” he said quietly, looking up at her and adding after a moment of thought: “Probably more than one.”

His eyes stayed locked onto Phryne's, trying to make her understand that he wasn't only talking about Jane.

“Numerous,” his wife quipped, sitting down beside him. Jack nodded in silence.

“Phryne, I-”

“She will calm down,” she said at the same time, causing him to postpone his apology. “Being in love for the first time tends to be a rather confusing experience.”

Jack's eyes widened in shock.

“You believe her feelings are this serious?”

“I believe I recognise a certain twinkle in her eyes when she looks at Mr. Taylor,” Phryne said. “And I am happy for her!”

“You can't truly consider this a good thing?!” the Inspector exclaimed. “She's still half a child!”

Phryne looked at him in a mixture of amusement and annoyance that enraged him on top of his anger with himself and Jane.

“She is a young lady, Jack. I was 15 when I had my first crush on a boy.”

“I would like her to marry a decent man someday. Take her time to fall in love. Not get swept away in a romance with some cad who might not be able to keep his fingers to himself, at 16 years old!”

Phryne didn't say anything, but he could feel the wall between them building. He had insulted her.

“I have never judged your lifestyle,” he tried in a desperate attempt to not let her slip away any further.

“And what right would you have to?” she asked. It appeared a very rhetorical question. Jack felt both hot and cold. There was nothing right he could say. Nothing to explain.

Thomas chose this very moment to start screaming in his crib, obviously disturbed by the agitation filling the room like thick smoke. Absent-mindedly Jack got to his feet, rocking the crib. He couldn't think with the child screaming in his ears. Phryne still waited angrily, but he could feel her getting to her feet. She was going to leave like this. Jack spun in a last attempt to soothe her. But her words were faster and her voice was shaking with rage.

“Is this what it is all about, Jack? The nonsense about becoming a tanguero? You spying on Jane? Do you feel the need to prove your masculinity because Hugh has fathered a child that wasn't yours to have?!” 

Phryne sensed her heart pounding against her ribcage. Somewhere in the red blur of anger she realised that she was breaking expensive crystal, smashing whole china-sets to pieces. But it was so good to finally bring her rage out into the world that she couldn't stop herself. Jack didn't answer. His withdrawal infuriated her further. She needed him to say_ something_! Give her something to work with but silence. “Because this behaviour doesn't make you a man, it makes you a fool!”

She paused, panting in righteous anger, waited for a response. She got none.

Jack felt like he had just received a second blow to the stomach in mere minutes and  feared  that he may  be sick if he opened his mouth. When he moved his feet there was a huge black hole underneath them. He tried to not look down, not look at her. He just steered his shaky legs out of the room, up the stairs and into his bedroom. Locked the door firmly behind himself. Sat down on the bed. Stared at the wall. After a while the burning pain turned into a dull glow and he realised that there were hot tears on his face that he couldn't remember crying. His mind was racing, spinning, twisting, without coming to any results. This morning he had had a family.  Now the ground  seemed to crumble underneath him. He let himself sink backwards onto the bed and closed his eyes in the hope that the world would fall away. 

X

Meanwhile Phryne was eating her chicken without tearing her eyes from her plate. She was certain the meal was delicious, despite the slight smell of burning potatoes hanging over the kitchen, yet she couldn't taste it. Jane seemed equally absorbed in her thoughts, pushing her food around on her plate without bringing a single piece to her mouth.

“Are you not hungry?” Phryne asked, trying a smile that turned into a strangled grimace. The girl just shook her head.

“Do you think he is mad at me?” she asked after a while. Phryne chewed on her lip, trying not to think of her own words. Deep down she knew that she had aimed to hurt him and that she had succeeded. But she couldn't shake the thought that she had gone way, way too far. Causing Jack pain never held any satisfaction and that very fact was infuriating. By now she truly wished she had remembered that before she'd opened her mouth to say stupid things. 

“I think he is mad at both of us,” she pointed out after a long moment. “But don't worry, he'll come around.”

Phryne realised that she was convincing herself along with their daughter and that nobody believed her. For several minutes it was quiet while cutlery clattered on plates.

“You know, I think we really should be mad at him,” Phryne finally stated firmly. Jane had to think about that.

“He did behave very silly,” she admitted.

Her mother nodded. More clattering. Phryne could help neither the anger still raging in her stomach nor the heaviness slowly spreading through her chest. He had misbehaved in so many ways, yet being at odds with Jack felt so wrong it was devastating. She glanced at the clock, realising that she needed to leave soon if she was to keep her date with Julian. Deep in thoughts she finished her meal and wandered upstairs to get changed. When she finally found the courage to knock against Jack's door she received no answer. Angrily she left. If he had decided to sulk it was his choice after all.

X

Jack awoke after 8 o'clock with his mouth feeling like he had chewed on an unbathed cat in his sleep. As soon as he had managed to assemble his aching limbs into a sitting position, memories came crashing down on him. It took him a long time to get up and wander to the bathroom. On the way back, he noticed light falling through a gap in Jane's door. Taking his heart in his hands, the Inspector knocked. His daughter lay sprawled on the bed, reading a book. Even from the distance she looked upset and his heart ached in his chest.

“May I?” Jack asked and couldn't help the relief when she nodded, her face unreadable. Jane slammed her book shut while he tenderly sat down at the edge of her bed. Her eyes looked rather puffy from this distance and he wondered how much their argument was weighing on her.

“How are you?” he finally asked quietly.

“Why are you asking?” she returned the question. Jack gulped, wringing his hands in his lap.

“Because you are right,” he whispered, his voice threatening to give out. “I am not your father.”

Speaking the words hurt even more than hearing them and he hurried on before the tears could come back. “But I _am_ your legal guardian and as such it _is_ my responsibility to worry about you.”

His smile was thin but he managed to look at her.

“I'm all right,” she said quietly. He nodded, getting to his feet.

“I am glad,” he said, turning towards the door.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, just when he arrived there. Jack froze, staring at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you regret that you became my legal guardian?” she asked. He shook his head, too stunned to answer such a silly question. Instead he watched her play with her fingers, a strangely touching gesture.

“You want a baby, don't you?” she finally asked, sounding close to tears. “Like Thomas.”

Jack just looked at her, racking his brain why on earth she would think such things. The scene in the parlour came immediately to mind.

“You know what I regret?” he asked after a pause. “And what I think every time I see that little boy?”

A pair of big blue eyes looked at him, so deeply upset that he wanted to hug her, yet he didn't dare to.

“What is that?”

“That I really wish I had been there when you were this tiny.”

He smiled. A sob escaped Jane's throat and a moment later Jack was back by her side, cradling her in his arms.

“I think I owe you an apology for being an annoying, overbearing guardian,” he whispered into her hair, once her crying slowed down. 

“I'm sorry for what I said,” Jane ground out between hiccups.

“It's the truth,” the Inspector admitted, retreating to look at her, “though I truly wish it wasn't.”

He played with her hair that looked quite disheveled at this stage, stroking a strand out of her face.

She shook her head, reminding him of a little girl more than of an almost grown woman.

“It was complete and utter nonsense,” she said. “Can we just forget I ever said it? Please?”

Jack nodded with the sensation of a rock tumbling off his chest. For a long moment they just sat. The Inspector battled with all the emotions crowding his mind. Too many to be thrown at an adolescent, busy with her own life.

“I don't want you to worry;” Jane suddenly said. “But I do like him.”

Jack nodded grimly.

“Love can get complicated,” he said, stroking her hair. “And I don't want you to get hurt.”

Jane just looked at him and Jack had the distinct feeling that she was reading his mind.

“What is your book about?” he tried to distract both of them from his own complicated love affair.

“A fairy tale,” Jane said, still watching him. _“The Light Princess.” _

“Is it any good?” Jack asked, flicking open the slim book.

“It seems rather funny.” She snuggled back into bed and smiled. “You could read me a goodnight story and find out.”

“Aren't you a little old for that?” Jack asked, already knowing that he could never win this argument. Both Phryne and Jane were fond of novels and sharing them with him at any chance possible.

“Nobody is ever too old to be read to,” his daughter protested as expected, stifling a yawn. “And if you had been my dad when I was little, I would have made you tell me a story every night. So you got away easy.”

Jack smiled to himself as he flicked to the beginning of the fairy tale.

By the time the princess had found her gravity through saving her prince, Jane was fast asleep.  The Inspector kissed her cheek  with a tender smile before he  switched off the light. 

R eturning to his bedroom seemed suddenly the option of a coward. Gently treading, he took the stairs but found the parlour empty. Of course, Phryne was dancing with Julian  Riley . A man whose tango she didn't consider 'nonsense'. Her words still stung more than he wanted to admit to himself. For a minute, Jack stood  unmoving in the hall,  trying to come to a decision. Then he nodded to himself.

While he donned his overcoat, Mr. Butler, already in his dressing gown, left the dining room. He stopped for a moment, deep creases appearing across his features.

“I know it is none of my concern, Sir-” he began but was cut of by the Inspector.

“Mr. Butler, we both know that everything happening in this house is of the deepest concern to you, so lets just skip the politeness. What is bearing on your mind?”

Tobias Butler was somewhat taken aback by the clear, if not unfriendly words. He was used to hiding behind formalities, the buffer between him and the rest of the world.

“Do you consider it wise to provoke her further?” he asked after some hesitance.

“I have no intention to provoke her,” Jack explained calmly while putting on his hat. “I am intending, however, to prove her wrong.”

With that he left. Mr. Butler turned his steps to the parlour where little Thomas was still fast asleep.

“Proving her wrong might be the biggest provocation of all,” he explained to the little boy with a sigh. He had been a butler for so long that his stomach reminded of a geigercounter for trouble. Currently he felt dread racing through his veins. Both his employers were playing with matches and he truly feared they might burn down the house. 


	26. Cueca

There was something unsettling to the empty spots on the walls, Phryne caught herself thinking while she watched Julian take off his coat. As if the missing pictures had left an unfillable void that now wafted and twirled through the quiet halls of 'Madame Claudine's' like a ghost. The ghost of a forgotten sister. Mrs. Robinson shuddered.

Julian approached for the dance without a word. He looked different in the dim light she found, deep shadows underneath his eyes which had turned an even darker shade since this morning. Maybe it wasn't the light, maybe it was his suffering soul. She couldn't help but think of Jack, his expression when he had left her standing in the parlour.

Julian's hands were cold and grabbed onto her with unusual roughness. Phryne tightened her grip on his back as well. They started walking when suddenly his feet changed direction, hurling her into a spin that certainly wasn't part of the choreography. Phryne felt her heart speed up as she stopped too close to him for comfort, stepping between his legs, pivoting in the opposite direction of where he was leading her. She was certainly not going to be played with by a cross man!

An angry expression answered her, his finger's digging into her arm as he tossed her over the dance floor. A sharp heel burying itself into his toes drew a surprised intake of breath from him a mere second later. Squinting at her he pulled her back into a tight embrace, their feet moved in angry unison, sweat already pouring from their bodies. Phryne's eyes were dark with excitement and rage when his fingers slipped along the outline of her body. She ripped his cheeky hands from herself, positioning them back onto her arms. But the tantalising sensation lingered on her skin. Another twirl, her back sliding down his chest, her blood rushing in her ears. She could feel his heartbeat through the thin layers separating them, his thigh rubbing against hers when he ripped her around, now clamping her against his body. She could feel every inch of him, his excitement, the rush that was mirrored in every fibre of herself. It was intoxicating and Phryne wanted to scream with the frustration of all her thoughts still turning around nothing but Jack.

Julian was close now, so close and pictures returned of the morning, of him leaning in to kiss her. Phryne sensed the pull of his lips, the dangerous expression in his eyes and she felt temptation so strong she thought she could almost grab it with her hands. It would be so easy. Just a little step over the line, a simple move. 

But she didn't and then Julian spun her and the moment had passed, the thoughts drowned in the exquisite trance. Trembling and panting they finally came to a stop, their limbs entangled in a compromising position, still feeling each other's taunt muscles under each fingertip. Julian gasped for breath.

“Amazing,” he managed to say while he gently retreating. “Are you quite certain that you haven't danced in years?”

“I may have dabbled,” Phryne grinned, sorting her clothes. She could still feel the thrill but it was wearing off now and she realised that she had been close to doing something she'd live to regret. There were enough things to be ashamed of for one evening.

“I've met a very civilised dancer two years ago, Sasha De Lisse? Not a tanguero by trade but then you couldn't have told when he did tango.”

Phryne smiled despite her unsettled feelings. Riley squinted at her, offering her a seat.

“I heard he was involved in a cocaine scandal,” he said. “Not that I care for gossip much, but I recall my mother being rather excited. Supposedly he performed a scandalous dance at a social function a few years back. Right in front of the eyes of the collected hospital board. I take my hat off to him.”

Phryne grinned, graciously accepting a glass of water from her dancing partner.

“I assure you there was nothing scandalous about it, but it was very enjoyable. Much more than being locked into a steam room with him later on.” 

Julian looked at her for a long moment, then burst into a comfortingly warm laugh.

“You are priceless, Phryne. And you will have to tell me the whole story.” 

“Oh, there is nothing much to it,” Mrs. Robinson quipped, enjoying his attention. “One of my acquaintances turned out to be a Drug Baroness who didn't take kindly to the discovery. So she tried to kill us by locking us up in a bathhouse, only dressed in towels.”

Julian watched her with astonished amusement.

“Jack... Inspector Robinson had to bust us out,” Phryne explained, smiling fondly at the memory

at her husband's expression. More laughter answered her. 

“I assume he was not amused about finding you with a scantly dressed man?” Julian asked. “I am suspecting that I am barely escaping arrest every time I am dancing with you.” 

“We weren't married yet,” Phryne answered, her mood cooling off. “In fact, I've never intended to get married.”

There was silence for a long moment as both wandered off on their own trails of thought.

“I can relate,” Julian finally said, his voice fully changed. “I rather think at the moment I might never marry myself.”

Surprised, Phryne looked up at his handsome features. He was staring out the window, his pain obvious.

“A broken heart heals,” she said.

“I am not certain if this one will,” he argued. “You see, I found this one precious thing many search for all their lives: a perfect creature. And now my heart... I don't think it will ever be the same.”

“So what keeps you from pursing her?” Phryne asked, her thoughts involuntarily drifting to Jack.

Julian sighed.

“I have,” he smiled. “I've conquered – and then I've lost. Through my own cowardice, it's lost forever. That is not a very comforting thought.”

Phryne wanted to say something wise, but nothing would come to her. She was hardly in a position to repair someone else's relationship while she couldn't even manage to speak to her own husband in a calm manner.

“I fear love might not be worth the effort. It tends to end in pain,” Julian Riley smiled grimly, rising. “Shall we again?”

A thought occurred to Mrs. Robinson as she let him lead her back onto the dance floor. Strange words that she had picked up on in an interview.

“This perfect creature... wasn't Nicolas Steeger by any chance?” she asked, just after they had started dancing. Julian was so surprised that he actually stepped onto her foot. 

X

She was woken in the morning light by a pounding headache. An empty tumbler on her bedside table reminded her of a few too many drinks after she had returned home and found both hers and Jack's beds empty. Miss Fisher had never been in the habit of drinking for anything but pleasure, yet there had been nothing enjoyable about pouring whisky down her throat last night while pacing her parlour long after the Collins had picked up their son and Mr. Butler had withdrawn to bed. She had finally retired upstairs, attempted to absorb herself in her book. Yet Jack hadn't come home. He was with Riya. Dancing.

Mr. Butler had been keen to inform her of this and while he didn't seem to like it any more than she did, he had also made a point of reminding her that neither of their partners were silly enough to overstep the lines. Phryne was certain he had meant well but his friendly words had merely caused a flashback to Julian's tempting lips. The resulting guilt racing through stomach had caused truculent anger to flare up. She was after all not the one who'd been out in somebody else's arms long after midnight.

She shook off the memories and turned her aching head in the knowledge that she wouldn't find Jack. The sheets were smooth and untouched on his side, wherever she hadn't crinkled them in tossing.

Now thoroughly angered and petrified Mrs. Robinson crawled out of bed, not bothering to fix herself up in any way as she slung her dressing gown over her shoulders. His withdrawal was simply childish at this stage. They had argued but surely there was no need to pout still? Not sharing her bed was about the harshest punishment Jack was capable of and that conclusion frightened and infuriated her in equal amounts.

Hoping that he hadn't left for work yet, mostly because she felt the intense urge to yell at him, she ripped the door open to storm out \- or at least she tried to. She moved the handle again, but the door wouldn't budge.

Hysterical laughter was rising in her throat as Phryne took three steps backwards, staring at the key she had herself turned in the lock, sometime between her third and fifth Scotch. She finally left the bedroom mere moments later.

“Mr. Butler?”, she called, jumping down the stairs.

Her servant showed somewhat confused by her unexpected shift of mood, in the door to the dining room.

“Is Jack still in the house?”

“I'm afraid he has left for the Station an hour ago, Ma'am. He asked numerous times for you though.”

Phryne brushed past her servant and into the dining room.

“Would you run me a bath, please, Mr. B. I believe I might be calling into City South after breakfast.”

X

DI Robinson was rather aimlessly shuffling around the papers cluttering up his desk when the door flew open and in swept Phryne.

“So, have you found the murderer yet, Inspector?” she asked, climbing onto the edge of his desk and crossing her legs.

Jack found himself beyond confused at her mood change.

After having forgotten the time at Mrs. Santi's house, he had raced home at 2 o'clock in the morning, fully expecting to run into a wall of anger. Instead he had walked into a locked bedroom door. Considering that Phryne had in all their fights – and there had been a fair few – never resolved to such a measure, it wasn't surprising that he had spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his own bed, drifting in and out of unsettling dreams. Finding any brain space right now to discuss a case was difficult enough without her waving her legs in front of his nose. 

“I'm afraid he's still not giving himself up,” he finally said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Well, that's rather impolite of him,” Phryne quipped, leaning in to touch his cheek. Jack's eyes closed involuntarily. Her hand was warm and soft and he felt the urge to snuggle into it and go to sleep.

“I'm sorry, Phryne,” he heard his own rough voice say.

There was no answer as her hand slipped away. When he opened his eyes again he realised that his top drawer was open and Phryne leaning over his chair, her slim fingers running down his arms.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his hair rising in his neck when he felt cold metal brush against his wrists.

“Phryne?”

His handcuffs clicked shut, securing him tightly to the chair. Jack squirmed, trying to escape her evil joke.

“That's not a very funny trick!”

He twisted, attempting to look at her while she gently bit into his neck.

“I was not trying to be funny,” she whispered beside his ear. He couldn't help the moan escaping his throat nor his body reacting as her hands trailed over his chest.

“This is my place of work,” he ground out.

“You don't say, Inspector?”

There it was again, the evil glitter in her eyes. Jack felt panic rise in his throat. She hadn't even locked the door; any moment one of his men might walk in and he'd have to explain  _this_ !

Nevertheless he groaned when she pulled his knees apart and started to unbutton his trousers.

“Phryne, please,” he begged, not sure what he was pleading for anymore. There was no answer, possibly because her tongue was currently occupied with other things. Jack watched her, torn between panic and arousal, anger and breathless passion.

“Please, we can't do this hee...”

Her red clips closed around him, causing his sentence to end in a moan. Jack surrendered, mostly out of a lack of choice. Miss Fisher always got what she wanted. Currently it was him. What had sparked this he wasn't sure, but he couldn't stop her and he wasn't certain if he truly wanted to. Falling into the cloud of lust, squirming underneath her ministrations, he missed the knock.

“Inspector?”

Jack ripped his eyes open, wondering if Hugh Collins would ever recover from what he must be seeing. It took him a moment to realise that the Constable was still standing in the door, looking at him expectantly. Then it dawned on him that the desk was currently barely hiding Phryne. As long as Hugh stayed where he was, he might be able to play this role. And as long as he could keep his head, Phryne's flicking tongue reminded him. Repressing a groan, Jack cleared his throat.

“What is it, Collins?”

“The Gallery on the phone for you, Sir.”

“Tell them I will...” He almost lost it as she intensified her attentions and for the first time it occurred to Jack that that might be sole purpose of her visit. To humiliate him. “I'll get back to them,” he managed to finish the sentence. “Once it has quietened down.”

Hugh opened his mouth, obviously wanting to protest the utter quietness of the Station, but Jack had long since perfected the stare that told any conversation partner that he was currently not willing to discuss his position. The Constable took the hint and pulled the door shut, leaving behind an Inspector who felt faint with relief. It didn't last though. A moment later it became clear that Phryne was not going to resign herself to teasing him, she was fully intent on crumbling his last bit of self-control.

Fear mixed into Jack's growing ecstasy. She was angry and he completely at her mercy. She could do anything from leaving him cuffed in his unbuttoned trousers, exposing him to the ridicule of his men to stopping at the last moment and damning him to squirm in his seat for the rest of the day, unable to concentrate. But looking down at her he knew with sudden clarity that she would do neither. She would leave the decision to him if he allowed her to push him over the edge and that was worse than either option. Because he couldn't fight her and that had nothing to do with his handcuffs.

A brief moment of desperation drowned in Phryne's warm mouth as Jack climbed the last few feet. His body writhing against the bounds and her, he wasn't certain if the officers could hear him and it scared him more than anything that he really didn't care.

“Phryne,” he gasped one last time. Then everything became fire and light as he drifted amongst the stars. A moment of perfect ecstasy.

“Inspector?”

The voice came from far, far away. A hand touched his shoulder.

“Inspector Robinson?”

Jack ripped his eyes open to stare into the face of Hugh Collins.

“Dear God,” he groaned in shock, trying to find Phryne's eyes, but she was gone, his trousers completely in order even though there was a suspiciously sticky feel to them.

“What is it, Collins?” he brought out after a moment of collecting his thoughts. 

“I.. believe you had fallen asleep, Sir. I thought it better to wake you.”

Jack sorted his tie in an effort to win time. Well, humiliation was obviously the order of the day. Phryne would be highly amused by this story. If she should be currently in the mood to speak with him. At least the Constable didn't return his own speech about the impossibility to doze off on the job. 

“Thank you, Collins. I'm afraid I didn't get much sleep last night.” 

“I apologize, Sir. We were not able to calm him down.”

Jack realised that the Constable believed Tommy to have been the reason for his sleepless night and could barely contain a bitter laugh.

“I believe that's normal in infants,” he said. “Did your wife enjoy the night out?”

Hugh blushed.

“I thought it might make her feel more normal if we'd do normal things...” he said, slightly embarrassed. “And Mr. Butler offered to take care of our son-”

“There is nothing wrong with taking your wife out for a dinner,” Jack said firmly, finally getting his grasp on reality back. He managed a smile and found some relief in the grin that was returned.

“She was quite happy. And then she got upset, because she missed little Tommy.”

Jack grinned, swallowing down a sarcastic comment about young mothers and their mysterious needs.

“Now, Collins, has the gallery telephoned yet?”

“No, Sir, but I did get the information on Mr. Steeger's account with the bank.”

The Constable laid down a piece of paper, covered in numbers.

“Anything of interest?” Jack asked, stifling a yawn. He truly wasn't in the mood to decipher this right now.

“Nothing, Sir. Steeger was neither rich nor poor. His wife had no reason to off him.”

The Inspector frowned at the Constable. He hadn't even expected to find a motive for Camila Steeger to kill her husband. But neither had he thought much more about her being one of the very few people who knew about his weak heart. He needed to speak to Phryne and find out what had transpired from her interview with the widow. It took him a moment to decide if he felt ready for a conversation with her. But just when he grasped for the telephone the door flew open and his wife swept in.

“Good morning, Hugh, Jack.” She nodded, climbing the edge of his desk and fishing for the bank details with her usual infallible aim at the most important thing in the room. Jack's fingers were itching to stop her, but he didn't. It was probably a good idea to not pour oil into the flames.

“Have you found the murderer yet, Inspector?” she asked while she studied the piece of paper. Jack mouth ran dry.

“He hasn't given himself up yet,” he heard himself say.

“That's a bit of a shame,” Phryne said, dropping the sheet that obviously held nothing of interest.

The Inspector just stared at her, his dream vividly returning. His confusion was likely obvious to her but Phryne just watched him before finally tilting her head .

“Jack?”

He cleared his throat.

“Did you find out anything of interest last night?”

“Quite a few things,” she smirked, crossing her legs.

“Would you care to share said things?” he asked sarcastically and was completely ignored.

“For one that Julian Riley did not have a love affair with Mr. Steeger.”

Jack leaned back, frowning.

“I wasn't aware that was in question,” he stated calmly. In the background Hugh Collins slowly turned a shade of purple.

“Inspector, I...” he pointed at the door.

“I believe there is someone at the counter,” Jack said, without tearing his eyes away from Phryne and repressed a grim smile as the Constable fled the room.

“Poor Hugh. Catholics seem to have this strange opposition to the love between two men,” Phryne quipped.

“He has been Catholic for less than a year,” the Inspector pointed out.

“That will do it,” Phryne grinned, shuffling on her place on the desk and bringing back flashbacks that sent hot shivers down Jack's spine. He felt rather annoyed by the tightness of his throat and her little games. How had she progressed from locking him out of her bedroom to happily teasing him? 

“I believe you wanted to tell me why you suspected a romantic involvement between your dancing partner and our murder victim,” he reminded her, slowly losing his temper.

“Oh yes. Mrs. Steeger has made some hints that their relationship was much closer than Julian would admit. It was purely platonic as it turns out though, all very boring.”

“I'm sorry that Mr. Steeger's love life failed to entertain you.”

Phryne hummed her approval.

“Julian's love life, however, is much more interesting,” she pointed out with a mischievous smile. Her husband battled down any and all feelings of jealousy. This was _not_ what he needed to worry about right now! Especially since she continued: “Jane was right, he did have a secret love affair. In fact, I found the letter she was talking about.”

She pulled a small envelope from her handbag.

“I assume Mr. Riley is not aware that you 'found' his possession?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. Nevertheless he accepted the letter from her hands.

“He wasn't very forthcoming with the information on who the mystery lady is,” Phryne explained calmly while he read. “I had to steal it from his pocket while we were dancing, which took some skill.”

Jack didn't answer to her teasing, instead stating dryly: “Jane was also right about it not being overly well written. And about the naked bodies in the moonlight, one very obviously female. But how does this help us?”

“Look at the signature, Jack!”

He squinted.

“C. Camila Steeger?”

“Or Madame Claudine?”

Jack all but laughed, trying to imagine the lady writing soppy love letters to Julian Riley.

“Or neither. A comparison with the hand writing should clear that up,” he stated, folding the letter back into it's envelope. “Was there anything of interest to be gathered from the widow?”

Phryne shook her head.

“She wanted to be independent from Madame Claudine and put the thumb-screws onto her husband. Which explains his dabbling into blackmail.”

Jack nodded.

“She is also quite convinced that her employer would be the only person who would have had an interest in poisoning her.”

“There is certainly no love lost between those two,” the Inspector stated. “But it all doesn't add up. Why kill her and damage her own business?”

“People have done sillier things in a jealous rage,” Phryne quipped, seemingly oblivious to the Inspector's frown. He was fully aware that she was provoking him but had no desire to go down that path.

“Madame Germain doesn't strike me as the raging type,” he said sharply. “But then, neither does Miss Green.”

“What are you on about, Jack?” Phryne asked, seemingly disinterested flicking through one of his folders. He took it from her with a rather harsh grip, all but throwing it at the other end of the desk.

“I believe you were too distracted by Mr. Riley's pockets to realise that we have an accused murderess amongst our witnesses.”


	27. Parasol Dance

She became aware of pacing his office, just when her heels made another sharp turn. Much of it had to do with trying to sort her thoughts but there was also an incredible tension in her spine. She had rushed to City South with the full intention to reconcile with Jack, yet it wasn't all that easy. She sensed a chasm between them that she found hard to bridge, no matter how much she bantered and teased.

It could have been easier to take offence had he not been playing along. But instead of obviously pouting, he was just barely noticeable keeping his distance. Had she known him a little less she might not have been aware of it at all. But she was very much aware and his withdrawal caused her blood to boil.

“So, we have Miss Green, who may have experimented with arsenic in the past and provided the jar, but has no motive,” she mumbled to no one in particular. “Madame Germain, who had plenty of motive but would be unlikely to poison someone on her own grounds. Miss Adams, who also works in a pharmacy-”

“Which stock's belladonna but only in the form of dried leaves and tinctures,” the Inspector threw in.

“-but has also no reason to kill Steeger. And his wife, who is just as likely the murderess as she might be the intended victim.”

“You have forgotten Mr. Riley,” Jack pressed out between his teeth. “If he is in love with Steeger's wife he has a motive. Besides their rivalry.”

“But then I'd be hard pressed to imagine Julian cooking jam,” Phryne grinned. “And his family is also financially involved in the dancing school. If we assume that Madame wouldn't damage her business, neither would Julian.”

The Inspector got to his feet, increasingly frustrated with repeating the same thoughts over and over again. None of their suspects really fit the shape of the murderer. Yet, someone definitely had killed Steeger. Phryne turned, becoming aware of his decision to leave.

“Where are you headed?' she asked.

“To Riley. I need to know who his secret lover is.”

“What makes you think he will be more forthcoming towards you than me?” she asked, a hint of annoyance swinging in her voice.

“This is a police matter, Phryne! If he doesn't speak he can cool his heel downstairs until he changes his mind.”

“He's protecting the woman he loves!”

Her tone surprised him. But his hands balled to fists by his side all the same.

“There is no room for secrets in a murder investigation. And you, Phryne, would be the first to stick your nose into anything that is none of your business, weren't you too busy fantasising about one of the suspects.”

His wife stood, confused.

“You can't seriously believe that dancing with Julian Riley is clouding my judgement, Jack?”

The Inspector took his hat, headed for the door.

“Possibly not the dancing,” he said, pushing down the handle while he turned to her. “But moaning his name in your sleep might do the trick.”

Phryne was still standing half stunned, half shaking with anger when the door fell shut. What on earth had that been about? Then, with a start the memories of her dream came flooding back. Falling into Jack's chair she wondered just how much he knew, how much he sensed?

But then his jealousy was ridiculous! Surely he couldn't blame her for a dream, could he? With a huff, she swung her legs onto his desk. After all he had been there as well. Sadly she couldn't tell him the details as she wasn't quite certain how Jack would react to the small detail that _she_ hadn't been the only one moaning Julian's name that night. Grinning, Phryne fished for a random report. If the Inspector insisted on pouting she would simply do her own sleuthing. They'd see who'd find the killer first.

X

She drew a flower. And then an onion. And then she realised that Miss Higgings was looking at her in the way that she always looked at students not paying her the appropriate amount of attention. She cleared her throat too. Miss Higgins clearing her throat was a very dangerous thing. It meant that she was getting annoyed and nobody wanted to annoy her.

Jane managed to focus on the Boer Wars a whole fifteen minutes before she found herself drifting off again. There was too much to think about. Her argument with Jack seemed rather silly in the light of her not even having managed to tell Harry that she liked him. Even though he did look at her all strange sometimes, as if he was dreaming with his eyes open. Right now he was sitting two rows in front of her and whispering with Martin Healy. Jane sighed, watching a sparrow land on the window sill. It stared at her out of black eyes, tilting it's head. Jane sighed again and it flew away.

“You all right?” Mel asked.

“Great,” Jane sighed and drew a heart.

Mel giggled.

“You're lovesick.”

“I am no such thing,” Jane protested firmly.

“So, where are we headed this afternoon? Did you want to talk with Mrs. Steeger again? Or Mr. Riley? Or maybe Madame Claudine?!”

She giggled at the thought of trying to draw anything from the temperamental dancing teacher. The truth was that so far their sleuthing hadn't gotten them the slightest glimpse into who might have murdered Mr. Steeger. But Mel treated it like a game, Jane thought. She seemed to enjoy it and then, what could go wrong?

Her memory pointed out many incidents where both her parents had walked in danger due to their investigation - so, quite a lot really. She thought of Jack's words in the past night.

“Maybe we should leave the sleuthing to other people,” she whispered.

A loudly cleared throat interrupted her and rendered Mel quiet for the time being. Annoying Miss Higgings generally tended to be a very bad idea.

X

Jack felt the wind pick up when he climbed onto the pavement. It tore dangerously on his hat, forcing him to to take the few metres to the entrance with his hand glued to his head in order not to lose it. But even the stiff breeze was unable to cool his anger.

Phryne had been a lot friendlier than he'd expected, yet exactly that seemed to infuriate him. His vivid dream had left a bitter after-taste in his mouth and while he was very aware that he couldn't be angry at her for something that his own mind had concocted he realised while waiting for his knock to be answered that it wasn't that simple. He felt violated.

Not by an imagined Phryne ignoring his struggling but by a very real one hurling words of anger at his weakest spots like glowing knives. Maybe the satisfaction about hurting him was why she seemed so willing to forgive his own mistakes. But Jack could currently not bring himself to try and find common ground with her.

It had taken him years to come to terms with the fact the he and Rosie weren't meant to conceive children. That he would never be a father. And that his already crumbling marriage had no chance to survive a blow like that. But the worst had been that deep down in the bottom of his heart, he had always known that it was _his_ fault. And that he had wasted most of Rosie's precious years of being able to be a mother, something that he knew she'd wanted.

So, Phryne's wish for independence from screaming babies was almost a miracle. In this one area he could be a perfect husband to her. And despite their different views on the subject she had always been gentle about his shortcoming – until last night. Jack hadn't expected to ever see his deepest, most intimate pain flung at himself in a cheap pay-back and by her of all people. That was hard to swallow.

Her ridiculing his struggles with being a father and husband had only been oil on the already scorching flame. Maybe dancing with Riya had been thought- and reckless, possibly even laughable. But then her teasing about Mr. Riley was just as ridiculous. Jack's hands balled to fists unconsciously, just when the door flew open and the subject of his thoughts smiled at him.

“Inspector Robinson? I hadn't expected you.”

Julian stepped aside to let him through. Jack was somewhat surprised. The facade of the Riley's family home didn't exactly speak of poverty. Opening a door himself seemed unusual for a young man who had likely been born with a golden spoon in his mouth.

“I'm afraid it's Maddy's day off and old Albert is a little deaf,” Riley explained happily while taking the Inspector's coat. “He also might have once again fallen asleep while folding my mother's handkerchiefs.”

He laughed. It sounded somewhat strained. Inspector Robinson took in the dark ring under the dancer's eyes, along with the expensive looking furniture. The facade wasn't lying. He was lead through to a sitting room where pristine white sofas lured him into suspiciously deep looking pillows and carefully took the offered seat. It was disgustingly soft.

“Can I get you some tea, Inspector? Mind you, I am rather terrible at brewing it,” Julian laughed shrilly. “I might have to wake Albert, bless his soul.”

Jack shook his head.

“Thank you, I won't be staying. But I need to ask you a question.”

“Of course.”

Julian sank into the opposite sofa. His careful balance betrayed that he had been dealing with this type of furniture for many years.

“So, Inspector?”

Jack cleared his throat and fished an envelope from his pocket.

“Before I ask this, let me assure you that I can find the answer myself if pressed for it. But I would prefer to not waste my time comparing the handwriting of every woman in your acquaintance.”

Julian paled, his hand covering his mouth as the Inspector handed over the piece of evidence.

“I am quite certain that you recognise this letter and I would like to know the author.”

For a long moment it was completely still in the room.

“Where have you gotten that from?” Julian asked into the silence.

“That is of no consequence,” Jack answered smoothly, waiting. Again there was silence. Then the younger man looked up, his eyes suspiciously translucent.

“You are more right than you think, Inspector. This letter is of no consequence.” He handed the envelope back. “The woman in question has chosen to end our acquaintance.”

Jack nodded.

“Nevertheless I need to know her name, Mr. Riley.”

The young man stared right past the Inspector, obviously lost in grim thoughts.

“I'm afraid I cannot help you.”

Jack got to his feet, clearing his throat.

“I'll have to ask you to accompany me to the station then,” he said. Julian looked somewhat shocked.

“Surely that's not necessary!”

“Mr. Riley, this is a murder investigation. I am not personally interested in who you share your bed with, but I do need to make sure it is not connected with the death of Mr. Steeger.”

Jack swallowed down the rest of his sentence: that he was also very much interested in the young man staying out of his own wife's bed.

Resurfacing from this thoughts he realised that Riley's eyes were glued to the door.

“I think, Inspector, we might go for a walk,” he said after a moment of hesitance. Jack nodded. He could relate to not enjoying the amount of ears in a house with servants and plenty of family.

“It's fine weather outside,” he lied. Julian gave him a pained grimace.

“Let me fetch our coats.”

They met in the hall and got dressed in silence. It wasn't until the door had closed behind them when Julian Riley began to speak.

“I'm afraid that this is a rather intimate matter.”

“As love usually is,” Jack replied dryly.

Riley sighed as they wandered along the pavement.

“Is it true, Inspector, that you have married into money?”

Jack's eyes flew up and he was about to give a very sharp reply but held his tongue just in time. Instead he pondered for a moment.

“I married my wife who incidentally happened to be a rich woman,” he finally said coldly. “You are quite well acquainted with Phryne and therefore should be able to appreciate the much more interesting features of her personality.”

“Doubtlessly. And I am terribly sorry if I left the impression that I assume your financial situation was what motivated your marriage,” Julian protested.

“Mr. Riley, no offence, but my marriage is none of your business.”

“I agree, Inspector. I agree.”

The young man once again seemed to be absent somewhere in a sphere of his own. When he turned to look at the policeman, his eyes had returned to swimming lakes of blue.

“I think I might require your advice,” he said quietly. “I have come to the conclusion that I've made the mistake of a lifetime.”

Jack couldn't help but wonder if Riley would confess the murder, but something told him that it wasn't that. Despite his better judgement he found himself intrigued.


	28. Redowa

Phryne again flicked through the coroner's report; the file on the suspects interviews, stared out the open door at where Hugh was writing some report or other... Something was trying to get her attention but she couldn't put her finger on it. She fished for the lab results, biting with a soft crunch into one of the biscuits Jack always hid in the bottom drawer behind his Shakespeare and the spare pencils. They weren't baked after any of Dot's recipe and for a brief moment, Phryne wondered where he got them from. And why she still kept stumbling over his secrets while he seemed to know her down to her very soul. It was an unsettling habit.

It seemed to her like it would forever stay a mystery what exactly was going on in his head. Finding him dancing in complete abandon, with Dot's little boy nevertheless, after the afternoons events appeared a provocation. Yet he had let her run against a brick wall with her anger, unwilling to confront her. Jack was locking her out, both literally and metaphorically and she was losing ground.

Phryne had to admit to herself that she was scared. She preferred anger.

A sentence in a statement of Mrs. Steeger caught her attention and she put any thoughts about the Inspector on hold for the time being, which took some effort. Phryne chewed on her lip, then riffled through the test results on the poison, leaned back. It made perfect sense. She jumped to her feet, rushing towards the door. And bumped into someone soft who hit her with a warmth and scent that made her wish she could just crawl underneath his skin and stay there. The sudden yearning took her by surprise. She took a step backwards and sucked some air into his lungs that wasn't saturated with the smell of his skin.

“Jack? I didn't expect you back just yet.”

“You seem to have made yourself comfortable, Miss Fisher,” the Inspector quipped, storing his biscuit tin back in the drawer in an effort to hide that her proximity hadn't left him cold. After a night tossing and turning alone in a cold bed he longed to hold her so much that it hurt. At the same time he was still furious. The conflicting emotions left his head spinning.

“Not particularly comfortable. Those chairs are a disgrace,” Phryne quipped. Nevertheless she sat down again. Jack took her teasing with absolute calmness that annoyed her beyond measure and slipped onto the edge of the table, now occupying her usual place.

Phryne picked up the lab results again, running a slim finger along the edge.

“I have, however, figured out that we were wrong all along. We assumed that Mr. Steeger was poisoned the very morning he died.”

Jack grinned.

“But if the jam was left for Camila Steeger the day before, that means that anyone who was at the picnic could have just as well placed it,” he finished her thought.

Phryne glanced at him, hiding both her amusement and her annoyance at the fact that he had come to the very same conclusion.

“Which leads us to many more witnesses to interview,” she said, getting to her feet. Phryne almost made it to the door, when she heard him casually say: “You might want to start with Mr. Riley's former lover.”

He turned towards her, smiling in a way that was both charming and incredibly infuriating. She didn't give him the satisfaction of asking. But he told her all the same.

“Charlotte McAster.”

Phryne frowned.

“Charly?”

Apparently oblivious to her surprise, Jack continued, returning to his chair behind the desk. It was still warm.

“It appears that your Mr. Riley was reluctant to make her his wife, considering his parents would likely disapprove of her family's financial struggles. So she ended it.”

“A clever girl,” Phryne taunted. “What's the point in keeping a man around who cannot decide on what he wants?”

Jack ignored the obvious stab and smiled.

“And there I thought you would be backing your friend?”

Phryne huffed, casually leaning against the edge of the desk.

“I hadn't taken Julian for such a coward.”

The Inspector cleared his throat.

“To his defence, he is thoroughly heart-broken by the events and seems to reconsider.”

He watched Phryne's reaction closely. There wasn't a flicker in her composure. If she was disturbed at all by this revelation about her dancing partner she was very good at hiding it.

“Didn't you say she ended it? Whatever makes you think she would want him to reconsider?”

Jack opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn't have an answer.

“Either way, I am going to head to the McAster's house,” she decided, slipping on her gloves. “Are you coming, Jack?”

A throat was cleared behind them. The Inspector grinned as Phryne turned to look at Constable Collins. “I don't think that will be necessary, Miss Fisher,” Jack pointed out casually. Hugh looked from one to the other, deciding that staying in this room was not a good idea.

“Sir, Miss McAster is here. She would like to speak to you.”

X

“More lemonade, Miss Jane?”

“Thank you,” the girl mumbled absent-mindedly, accepting a glass from the maid. From her place in the ivy covered arbour she had a great view at the dining room where the McAsters were currently arguing.

“What's wrong with your parents?” she asked Mel who was chattering about something or other without making much sense. Her friend stopped, confused by the sudden change of subject.

“I told you, they're weird,” she shrugged.

“They've always been that,” Jane grinned, “but why are they fighting?”

Melody chewed on her lip.

“I think father's company is bankrupt,” she finally said, her voice's usually happy tone turning a little shrill. “Mother says we will will have to give up the house.”

Jane took a moment to get over her shock.

“That's terrible, Mel, why didn't you say anything?”

Her friend continued chewing on her lip, staring out into the garden.

“I did, but you weren't very interested.”

Jane swallowed dryly, finally turning to look at her friend. She guessed she had been rather preoccupied.  
“I'm so sorry, Mel.”

But her friend just waved her apology away.

“You're life is so much more exciting. Of course you are busy.”

She grasped for her drink but was surprised when a hand clamped over her wrist, spilling lemonade over both girls fingers.

“No!” Jane stated firmly, without releasing her. “I am your friend, Mel, and I should have listened.”

Melody stared at her with big eyes.

“Can you hand me the napkins, please?”

“Of course.”

Jane could feel her ears turn an embarrassed shade of red as she fished two napkins from the tablet that the maid had left behind and wiped sticky liquid from her fingers.

“Anyways, there isn't much to tell,” he friend said quietly. “Mother is in a state and father is getting more sarcastic by the day. And Charly is weeping all day in her room.”

Her friend, who had been nodding until a moment ago, now frowned.

“Charly's crying?”

Mel shrugged, throwing the balled up napkin back onto the table.

“I didn't think she even capable of tears. But she's looking all puffed up and disgusting. Mother pretends she doesn't notice.”

Jane found herself stroking her friend's arm. She hadn't ever really seen her upset. In fact she was so silly most of the time, it was sometimes hard to remember that she had feelings. Now her eyes were suspiciously light.

“She'll have to get married now, won't she?” Melody stated. “Daddy can't afford to feed her any longer. And I will have to get married too.”

Jane shuddered at the idea. She wanted to protest that they hadn't even finished school yet. But then that was reality, wasn't it? Phryne would be outraged by this. In fact, Jane firmly decided to talk to her mother. There must be something they could do. Sipping her lemonade, she was making plans in her head.

“I told you it's not very interesting,” Mel said, finishing her own drink. Embarrassed, Jane realised that she had drifted off in the middle of the conversation.

“Nonsense,” she protested. “I was just wondering-”

“Who killed Mr. Steeger? I think we should go out sleuthing, don't you?” Melody exclaimed with an enthusiasm that seemed slightly fake. Jane decided to not remind her that a murder wasn't a particularly uplifting subject either.

“Come,” her friend pleaded, stretching out her hand.

“Won't your parents notice that we are gone?” Jane asked as she followed her friend to the hedges separating the yard from the street.

“They are preoccupied,” Melody pointed out, glancing at her father who seemed completely absorbed in a book behind the window of his library, covered in an aura of sulking. “Mother is probably yelling at the cook about her dinner plans. And getting it wrong.”

Jane couldn't help but grin as they ducked through the greenery. A branch getting tangled in her long hair caused her to stop when something sparkling caught her attention.

“What is it?” Mel asked, turning and finding her friend picking up something from the floor, her hair tousled with leaves stuck in them.

“It's a button,” Jane said, studying the item in her palm.

“Probably the missing one from Charly's green blouse,” Melody explained casually as they stepped out onto the street. “She's been using this exit for quite some time.”

Jane held the glittering silver button up into the sunlight to inspect the distinctive pattern. She remembered it.

“I doubt it,” she mumbled.

It had been attached to Julian Riley's coat only two days ago.

X

“He came to our house early on Wednesday morning. I had sent him a message that I needed to talk to him. And talk we did. My father is bankrupt, rendering a future together with the approval of his family impossible. It was the last time I saw him,” Charly explained calmly.

“You ended your dalliance that morning?” Jack asked. A bitter laugh answered him.

“If it had been a dalliance I would be a lot better off, Inspector. But it's not that. And I was not after his money, for all you might think.”

“We aren't thinking any of those things,” Jack said, glancing at Phryne who looked like she might be thinking quite a lot. “We are merely wondering why neither of you came forward with this information when someone got murdered right in front of your nose.”

Charlotte looked stunned.

“Why would we? It's not like our love had anything to do with Mr. Steeger's death.”

“I don't think that is a judgement that is yours to make,” Phryne said coldly from where she was leaning against the window sill. Jack's eyes flew around, his brows asking her why she was so offended by this secret love affair. Was it jealousy?

“Look, I came here because Jul... Mr. Riley telephoned the house and left a message with the maid that he had blabbed.” The bitter tinge of Miss McAster's voice was now undeniable. “I should have known that all his promises of protecting our secret wouldn't hold,” she added after a moment. “But I do still not see what either of us have to do with this murder.”

Jack felt the burning need to tell the young woman that he had to all but arrest Riley before he had finally given into sharing his secret. But instead he decided to stay quiet when Phryne sat down beside him.

“Miss McAster, you collapsed on Sunday afternoon? At the picnic?”

A perfect eyebrow was raised at the Detectives.

“I did. Dr. Harbert said it was likely just exhaustion. I hadn't eaten that morning.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Robinson asked.

“It is what the Doctor thought.”

“Well maybe you have accidentally poisoned yourself,” Phryne pointed out. “While cooking up jam?”

The Inspector gaped at his wife before he managed to compose himself. She knew as well as him that it wasn't a particularly likely option. Phryne was bluffing. For a long moment shocked silence filled the small interview room to the brim.

“You can't just accuse me of murder without backing it up, Mrs. Robinson,” Charly said stiffly. “And I'll have you know that I am a terrible cook.”

“I'm sure your future husband is going to be very glad to know that,” Jack quipped. “However, I don't think Nicolas Steeger was pre-occupied with the taste when he ate his deadly breakfast.”

A pair of big, brown eyes looked at him in disapproval of his joke.

“What motive could I possibly have to kill him? I barely knew the man.”

“Well, he was the rival of the man you loved,” Phryne pointed out. “But on second thought maybe he wasn't the intended victim at all.”

Charlotte stared at her, her rather short brown hair standing tousled from her head as if it felt her confusion.

“Mr. Riley had found out on Saturday that he was to be Camila Steeger's dancing partner, rather than her husband.”

Charlotte gasped for air.

“I didn't know that,” she said tonelessly. “But you've got it wrong. I had no chance to poison anyone as I wasn't at the dancing school that morning. I didn't join the party until the picnic. I'm sure my mother will be happy to confirm that.”

“Where were you?” the Inspector asked.

Charlotte stared at her hands for a long moment.

“I was getting fitted for a dress.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow, ready to make a sharp remark but was silenced by the next words.

“A wedding dress. Julian had promised to announce our engagement at the ball tomorrow.”


	29. Allemande

Mr. Butler walked in the kitchen just as Dot pulled a rack from the oven.

“That smells delicious, Dorothy.”

The young mother turned, smiling. She looked tired he noted with some concern, but there was a bit of a rosy flush to her cheeks.

“I hadn't realised just how much I missed baking,” she admitted, casually rocking Tommy's crib as he gave a little gurgle in his sleep. “But they did turn out a little flat.”

“They look perfectly fine to me,” Tobias stated, gently pressing one of the muffins.

“Are you staying for afternoon tea then?” Dot asked, already clattering with the cups.

“There is nothing I would rather do,” Mr. Butler admitted, “but I do need to go out and buy some groceries. I only came to ask if you needed anything.”

Disappointment shadowed Mrs. Collins features, barely noticeable.

“That's very kind of you,” she said, “I haven't decided yet what I will be cooking.”

Mr. Butler looked at her for a long moment.

“You know, I believe the Robinson's are going to take dinner late tonight. Why don't we have tea and then head out to the market together? I believe he wouldn't mind a little wander.”

He glanced at the baby boy still fast asleep, then turned his attention to the muffins which still wafted a wonderful smell through the small kitchen.

“And to tell you the truth I just cannot resist your baking, Dorothy.”

Dot turned to hide the smile sneaking around her lips.

“In that case, Mr. Butler, I had better make some tea.”

“May I fetch the milk?” Tobias asked.

The maid was about to fend off his help when she remembered Dr. MacMillan's words.

“Thank you,” she smiled, “that would be lovely.”

This time it was Tobias having to hide his grin.

X

“Mr. Riley?”

The young man turned on the stairs and spotted two young girls standing in the entrance hall. His heart sank.

“Miss Ross, Miss McAster?”

He slowly walked back down to the hall, attempting to keep his calm. Jane smiled, then when she had almost reached them she held up her fist, opening it slowly like a blossom spreading it's petals in springtime.

“I believe this is yours?” she asked sweetly. He stretched out his fingers, touching the silver button as fear spread through his stomach. The Inspector had promised him complete discretion yet here stood his daughter, looking suspiciously innocent.

“Thank you. I've noticed it's gone missing. I must have lost it here in the school after all.”

He swallowed dryly, his eyes begging her to let it go. And Jane seemed to comply with his wishes, but just when he moved to rush up the stairs, she added pleasantly: “Would you like to tell us why it would be lying between the hedges at the McAster's house?”

Julian froze in his tracks, managing a thin smile.

“Do you truly have to ask, Miss Ross?”

Jane shook her head.

“I would like to know though why my sister is bawling her eyes out.”

The calm voice surprised both of them as they turned to look at Mel. The girl shrugged.

“Well, love isn't supposed to make you sad, is it?”

Mr. Riley suddenly looked like someone had flicked on a light behind his eyes, Jane registered.

“Indeed it is not, Miss Melody.”

His boyish grin stood in stark contrast to his pale skin, the strange combination being unable to taint the grace of his features. It wasn't missed on either of the girls.

“Maybe we should go and talk,” Julian finally offered as neither of the girls appeared willing to ask him any more questions. “Considering you have discovered the secret I have been so successfully hiding from the world.”

Mel nodded, smilingly glancing at Jane, who grinned back. Neither of the three noticed the pair of eyes that was watching them from behind a pillar on the upper floor.

X

“It was a terribly lovely morning. Amelie really is going to shine at the ball and I believe the young Mr. Taylor has already thrown an eye on her-”

“Mrs. Blair, did you notice anything unusual while we were all at 'Madame Claudine's'?” Jack interrupted the woman's babbling.

She didn't even think for a moment.

“No, no, nothing unusual. Besides this terrible dress Miss Rockman was wearing. Most hideous-”

“I didn't see you at the picnic,” Phryne cut in before she could tell them again about the colouring of the girl's attire.

“Oh, no. We didn't go. Amelie and me had a luncheon to go to. With Mrs. Santi, the artist. I believe you are acquainted, aren't you Mrs. Robinson?”

Phryne shot Jack a look that could have killed on the spot.

“We are old friends,” she said stiffly in a voice that told the Inspector that she was currently reconsidering that arrangement. Mrs. Blair laughed.

“Well, I think her work is most extraordinary. But she stubbornly refuses to have my dear Amelie sit for her. Claims she doesn't paint portraits at all. Have you ever heard of such absurdity?”

Jack felt himself freezing under his wife's stare.

“But that's artists for you, isn't it? They want to be convinced.”

Inspector Robinson noisily cleared his throat.

“I'm sure you are right, Mrs. Blair. So, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious on Sunday morning?”

“Nothing whatsoever, Inspector. And I also do have to go, I have an appointment at the salon and I am running late.”

“Of course, Mrs. Blair.”

Jack rubbed his face with both hands after the Lady had finally left the room. It had been a long afternoon, interviewing every single person who had attended the dancing class and picnic. Many more than he remembered. But then his attention might have been side-tracked by Jane, Phryne and their respective dancing partners.

“Well it appears Mr. Steeger was murdered right underneath our noses,” Phryne quipped, smiling. “And nobody noticed a thing, _Detective-Inspector_.”

Jack sought out her eyes which was unnecessary to understand her stab. A crime had been committed and he hadn't suspected anything, instead chasing the phantom of a removed branch. In sudden resolve he pulled himself to his feet and glanced at his watch.

“A shame that. But enough with boring murder cases. I believe you are due to dance with Mr. Riley, aren't you?” he asked as sweetly as he could muster. Phryne barely managed to not let her smile slip as she followed him out of the interview room and into the corridor to his office.

“In about twenty minutes. But I should be home for dinner. Can I drop you off somewhere?”

Jack smiled grimly, helping her into her coat.

“Thank you, I'll take the police motorcar. I am not certain how long I will be.”

Phryne glanced at him, wondering if he rubbed salt into the wound on purpose. She smiled.

“Sounds intriguing,” she quipped, wanting to strangle him.

“I will have to see our poison dealers,” he explained calmly. In fact he was very much intending to call by Mrs. Santi's house if he should escape the herb lady's curse a second time, but he wouldn't tell Phryne that. He didn't feel suicidal and she was very obviously in a dangerous mood. As he headed outside he pondered why he was playing with fire. He could just stop with the 'tanguero nonsense', apologise to his wife and return to where they had been last week. 

But, Jack found with a start, he really didn't want to. He ached to get back to Riya's house, couldn't wait for the music to crawl underneath his skin, travel along his spine and move his feet. It was scary how much he longed for it. And despite anything Phryne may be thinking, it had nothing to do with Riya. She was lovely and a wonderful teacher, but there was nothing more to it. Sometimes, Jack had to admit, he found himself dreaming of Phryne when he spun Riya over the parquet. About holding  _her_ this way, about her looking up at him the way she'd looked at Steeger. There was an ache in his heart, a yearning he couldn't explain, but he needed to follow it. And there was no turning back as much as his brain protested that this could be a massive mistake. 

He opened the car door for Phryne, completely distrait, trying to decipher his own feelings and completely missing that she was still watching him with detective's eyes.

“Jack?”

He raised his eyes to her; they were soft, inviting, no distance in them and Phryne couldn't help but wonder where he had been off to that made him feel this way. Neither was she entirely certain if she wanted to know. But she definitely had a debt to repay. Jack gasped for air when her fingers wove around his neck and pulled him into a breathtaking kiss.

“I'll see you tonight then, Jack,” she grinned, climbing into her Hispano and starting the motor before he had a chance to find his senses. If the Inspector had been confused before, he now looked utterly bewildered. Phryne almost wanted to laugh. Her heart, however, was still beating violently when she reached the corner and Jack disappeared out of sight. Her lips were tingling, his taste still lingering on her tongue. With sudden clarity she knew that even if she'd stumbled over the line and kissed Julian, it wouldn't have been able to satisfy her. Loving Jack had changed her. Being loved by him had corrupted her for anyone else. To her annoyance she actually felt warmth spread through her stomach, causing her heart to ache. She huffed quietly to herself and squeezed her accelerator down until the Hispano was barely a red blur flying over the cobbles.

X

The light was different today as it broke in the many, many glass jars lining the walls, danced over the dust particles hanging in the air, deepening the places unreal quality. Someone sneezed between the clutter.

“Bless you,” the Inspector said automatically. Then he saw her. Her smile was like the sun rising above the horizon.

“Thank you,” the woman said, stepping out behind the counter, her golden curls whipping with every step. Jack gulped.

“I assume you are the daughter?” he heard himself ask, staring at the angelic features in front of him. Her red lips parted for a smile.

“Everybody is someone's daughter.” She paused, seemingly reconsidering this. “Or son, as it may be. May I ask whose son you are?”

Jack finally found enough brain space to fumble for his badge. She took it with manicured fingernails which Inspector Robinson allowed without any resistance. He felt like he had stumbled into a very weird dream. Any moment now he would turn into a frog.

“Ahh, the policeman. Mother said you were looking for devil's cherries?”

“In fact, Miss...”

“Mrs. Rutherwood,” she corrected.

“Mrs. Rutherwood,” Jack echoed. “I am looking for someone who has bought devil's cherries from you.”

She nodded, tilting her head. For a long moment she didn't move at all, almost as if she had turned into a statue. Jack felt the urge to flee, but instead he waited patiently for her to ponder his question.

“I believe I have sold some. Last week, if I recall correctly. Let me see.”

She disappeared before resurfacing with a small booklet in her hands.

“I keep track of everything we sell. Mother thinks I am perfectly mad,” she conversationally explained while flicking through it with idle fingers. Jack wouldn't have argued the point. She suddenly stopped. “Now, here it is. Half a pound, sold last Friday. I believe it was in the afternoon.”

Jack looked at the beautiful curls of her writing. Anything about this woman seemed unreal and beautiful. Like a statue made of sugar. He shuddered despite the stuffy warmth in the small shop.

“Do you recall who bought them?” he asked. She stared past him, seemingly thinking, but he wasn't quite sure if she hadn't just retreated into her own realm again.   
“Mrs. Rutherwood?” he asked gently.

“Oh, no I don't,” she said happily. “It was a woman, I am quite certain. But other than that I can't help you, Inspector. Many people buy them, they are said to make lovely tea.”

She didn't seem particularly upset about her lack of knowledge as she returned behind her counter and stored the booklet away without the strange smile leaving her face. Jack stood, unsure if the conversation was over. Finally he turned on his heels.   
“Good day, Mrs. Rutherwood,” he said when he reached the door. She looked up from where she had been happily humming and sorting through something that looked like frogs legs, her pretty mouth forming a perfect 'O'. She appeared to have forgotten his presence, Jack thought, returning his hat onto his head. Then her smile was back.

“Good day, Detective-Inspector Robinson.”

Jack stepped out onto the street a mere moment later, dragging fresh air into his lungs while he clutched onto his hat to keep it from flying away with a sudden gust of wind. This hadn't been particularly helpful. But nevertheless he couldn't deny the relief about never having to enter this shop again.


	30. Foxtrot

“Are you going to marry Charly?”

Julian looked in Melody's excited face and sighed.

“You know, it's not all that easy.”

“I don't see how it is complicated. You love her, don't you?” she insisted with flushed cheeks.

Searching for help he sought out Jane's eyes. But the girl just shrugged. Melody's way of seeing the world in only a very restricted colour pallet tended to be annoying at times, but in this case she happened to agree. Why did love have to be complicated?

“I do,” he finally said quietly. The girls looked at each other, a simultaneous grin spreading over their feature. “But firstly, I don't even know if she'd take me at this stage-”

“She is very stubborn,” Mel threw in.

Julian nodded his head slowly.

“And secondly I still have to speak to my parents. And my father has made it very clear that he'd rather disown me than see me marry an unsuitable woman.”

Melody's excitement deflated. Frowning, she stared at the tabletop.

“And I fear the current situation of your family makes Charlotte rather unsuitable...” Julian explained. “In his opinion,” he hurried to continue when he noticed Jane's expression. “In mine, she is still the most stunning creature I've ever laid eyes on.”

The girls looked at each other.

“You know, I think I'd rather live in a tiny cottage with the man I love than in a mansion with some old, dusty man who didn't like my dresses. Or my opinions,” Mel finally stated bravely.

“You would, wouldn't you?” Riley said, his voice slipping more and more into dreamy territory. Jane watched him out of clear blue eyes, wondering, pondering.

“Maybe those aren't all the options,” she finally stated firmly. Before either of her conversation partners could inquire into her thoughts, a throat was cleared behind them.

“Mr. Riley, Mrs. Robinson is waiting for you in the blue salon.”

Julian turned, his cheeks developing a slight blush. He couldn't help but wonder how much Mia Green had heard of their conversation. But there was nothing but friendly goodwill to be discovered in her grin and he took a breath of relief.

“I'd better go, Ladies,” he smiled, pulling himself to his feet. “I assume you haven't been here?” he asked when he noticed the hint of concern in Jane's features.

“Thank you,” the girl mouthed, before taking Mel's hand and pulling her out of the room. She didn't really feel the need to bump into her mother right now. Julian watched the two young women leave. They really didn't know much about how complicated love could get. Something about that was very intriguing.

X

Inspector Robinson had decided to return to the little side-street near the Botanic Garden and drop into a shop there. On the way out he spotted another familiar figure just a few metres away. The Professor, however, had noticed him first.

“Inspector Robinson! How is the man hunt going?”

“It seems to progress into a woman hunt,” Jack smiled thinly. “I am coming from my second visit to the herb shop you directed me to.”

A rumbling laugh answered him.

“It is rather an adventure, isn't it?” Professor Altman grinned.

“That is one way of putting it,” Jack quipped. “But you were correct in assuming that the belladonna has been bought there. They did sell a reasonable amount last week. To a woman as it happens.”

“Do you have a particular suspect?”

Inspector Robinson shook his head. “Sadly not. There is quite a few possible culprits of the female species. And the men may have had a female accomplice. So really it doesn't narrow down my suspects at all.”

“I'm very sorry to hear it. But I'm sure you will get your man, Inspector. Or woman, as it happens.” They had wandered down the street somewhat. Altman stopped in front of a door that seemed vaguely familiar to Jack. “This is me.”

“I hope you aren't sick, Professor?” the Inspector asked, realising that Altman was headed into Mr. Wilt's pharmacy.

This time the laughter was even deeper.

“I'm in the best of health, thank you, Inspector. Jonathan Wilt and I have been friends since our years at college. A time much longer ago than I care to remember. And as it happens, we ended up just down the street from each other.”

“A man has to be lucky at times,” Jack smiled, donning his hat at the professor.

“Indeed, Inspector, indeed.”

After saying their goodbyes, the Inspector wandered down the street deep in thought. Another piece of puzzle that didn't fit. He might be in need of some luck as well.

Jack arrived at the now familiar mansion still pondering his tricky case. Nothing seemed to add up despite making it's own twisted sense. And yet he felt like the thread that would unravel everything was dangling right in front of his nose.

Inga opened the door and greeted him with a strained smile. The maid was well aware that her Mistress's relationship to any men was none of her business at all, yet she was rather fond of her and she also did like Mr. Butler. The sudden fixation on the Inspector's tango lessons was more than suspicious, especially since Mrs. Santi seemed to drop her paint brush as soon as he showed at her doorstep at any time of day or night.

“I believe I am a little early,” Jack apologised while taking off his coat.

“She's currently painting in the garden if you'd like to step outside,” Inga offered. She had a cake in the oven that was going to burn if she'd bothered to fetch her Mistress and if she hated one thing it was wasting perfectly good food for silly reasons.

“I'm sure you will find the way,” she couldn't help but add before she disappeared in the kitchen. Jack grinned to himself as he crossed the sitting room. He hadn't missed that his frequent visits were stirring up Riya's maid – and found it strangely amusing. Possibly it was just the thrill of somebody actually believing him capable of misbehaviour.

Stepping through the tall French doors his nose was greeted by a heavy smell of roses swept over by the wind. The Inspector realised that he had no idea where in the large garden to look, but then he didn't mind a little stroll. It was a beautiful piece of land, designed in a mixture of wild and artful that reminded of stepping into a Monet painting. Wandering through the flowerbeds, Jack strained his eyes, trying to find his hostess between the colourful flowerbeds and green lawns. He finally spotted her and her canvas in the shadow of a large eucalyptus tree. A lock of black hair had escaped from her updo, being caught by the wind. She fitted right into her garden, Jack caught himself thinking – a mixture of wild beauty and art. He had almost reached her when she spotted him and her reaction was somewhat confusing. He could have been mistaken, but Jack was certain there he saw a shadow whisper over her face.

“Stop right there,” she called, getting up. The Inspector's feet obediently stood still. Riya pulled a sheet over the canvas she had been staring at before greeting her visitor.

“More secrets?” the Inspector smiled, an eyebrow raised.

“Just the intricacies of an artist,” Riya quipped, taking his arm.

“You are aware that I am a policeman and therefore in need to know everything?” Jack asked during their short stroll back towards the house.

“In time, Jack, in time.”

They walked on in silence with the Inspector holding his face into the soft wind. He couldn't help but wonder what Riya was hiding, yet had no doubt that she would stand by her word. Arriving at the house he held open the door for his teacher and she graciously accepted.

“I am assuming you have come in hope of learning the sentada?” Mrs. Santi smiled, watching him blink in the sudden darkness.

“While I am not certain what particular entanglement this word describes, I am rather curious,” Jack admitted grinning and accepted a glass of water. There was a pause.

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Riya asked.

Jack took a gulp from his glass, thinking of Phryne. He knew her anger was not unreasonable. In fact he might have felt the same had she been hiding something from him, yet he didn't feel like ceasing to dance was the right step to soothe her temper. He nodded.

“I am afraid it is the only way to fix this,” he explained enigmatically. If he'd stopped, Phryne's anger had been earned in vain. She wouldn't enjoy his weakness any more than his secrecy. He had turned into the wrong road and now he felt he needed to see it through - besides being incredibly eager to see what was hiding behind the next corner.

Riya didn't ask any questions. She must be worried about her friendship, Jack wondered, yet she hadn't refused for a moment to go ahead with her teaching. Now she turned, her white dress twirling around her and swept past him to turn on the music. He grasped her arm, realising a moment too late that that was a strange behaviour for mere acquaintances and retrieved his hand.

“I don't wish to risk your relationship with Phryne for my benefit,” he pointed out calmly, willing to leave this instance if she asked him to. Riya shook her head with a strained smile.

“We have been friends for a very long time, Jack.”

That was all the answer he was going to get. As the first beats of tango swept over them, Jack decided to forget about the knot in his stomach. There was a time for everything and this was not the hour to worry.

X

Madame Germain looked up briefly when Mrs. Steeger entered.

“Camila?” she asked without stopping to shuffle paperwork around. In her defence it had to be said that she hadn't had the best of weeks; she had lost too many things close to her heart. Yet she was aware of being rude. Without a word another sheet of paper was laid on her desk and Mrs. Steeger turned to leave. Madame glanced at the letter, started.

“This is your resignation?!” she asked.

Camila turned.

“I assume it is time to move on, don't you? It is no secret that you never wanted me here and now that our link has died, there is little to keep me.”

Claudine nodded. It was certainly reasonable. Yet it didn't feel right.

“Take a seat, please.”

Mrs. Steeger was obviously surprised but succumbed to her wishes.

“What are you going to do?”

Camila shrugged.

“I am certain something will come up.”

“Nicolas had many benefits, but his financial abilities were limited,” Claudine said smoothly. “He couldn't have left you much.”

Her opposite raised her chin.

“I am not certain how my financial situation is any of your business. But no, of course he hasn't. You knew him well.”

There was silence for a long moment while the two woman stared at each other.

“I loved him,” Claudine finally said quietly.

“I know.”

Mrs. Steeger's eyes glittered dangerously, but it was hard to say if with anger or tears. Madame had been a dancer for too long to worry about emotional outbursts.

“And I envied you. And now he's gone and we sit arguing like children over a broken toy.”

“There was little to envy,” Camila said after a pause. “He was far from an ideal husband.”

Claudine smiled bitterly.

“I know.”

After another pause in which Mr. Steeger stared past her at the empty spot on the wall and fought back her tears, Madame picked up the letter and ripped it in half.

“I won't accept your resignation,” she said. “For all I know we may have to close this place down in a month's time anyway, but I don't intend to give it up without a fight. And I need you for that.”

Camila's dark eyes locked onto hers, the surprise unmistakable. But after a long moment of sharing thoughts that neither woman would ever speak aloud, she smiled.

“Very well then, I'll get back to work.”

She got to her feet while Claudine already returned to her paperwork. A warm feeling was spreading through her chest, one she hadn't felt in many years. She looked up to see her employee reach the door.

“Thank you,” she said. There was a pause in Camila's movement. The hint of a smile. But she left without a word. And that was just the way it had to be.

X

On returning home, Phryne found someone in Jack's bedroom. To her surprise it wasn't the Inspector.

“Dot?”

The girl turned, barely able to hide her embarrassment while trying to close a file that had been left unattended.

“I'm sorry, I just stumbled across it when putting clothes away and I...”

Phryne stepped towards her, shaking her head. Dorothy realised she had to own up.

“I know you didn't ask me to join into your sleuthing, but I can't just... sit all day and watch my child,” she explained after a moment. Phryne couldn't help but smile at her blushing maid, especially since she was certain that Dot Collins hadn't 'just sat' in about a week.

“Why didn't you say something?” she asked, reaching her assistant and having a glance at her reading material. “We could do with some help in this case.”

She was content with the beaming smile that answered her.

“This won't tell you too much of interest though,” she explained, taking the file from her hands. “Also Jack doesn't appreciate us going through his things. But I could fill you in over a cup of tea?”

Dot's excitement grew while her employer wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steering her out of the bedroom.

“I will have to look to Thomas before though.”

Phryne rolled her eyes in mock annoyance.

“Of course you do.”

Heading into her kitchen and putting on the kettle herself, Mrs. Robinson felt deep satisfaction. She had been worried that Dot might find motherhood too appealing to return to her side at all, leave alone after a few days. It looked like she had underestimated her longing to sleuth.

Screaming drew closer and Phryne sighed as she fished for the teapot. But of course, there was still that little problem to solve.


	31. Bachata

Her friend hadn't said a word in ten minutes. Melody couldn't really stand the serenity of birds singing and branches moving in the wind any longer.

“So, what shall we do now?” she asked. Jane looked up and shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing? We still don't know who killed Mr. Steeger.”

“Jack and Phryne will find out,” Jane mumbled, drifting back into the thicket of thoughts filling her head. She wouldn't tell the other girl, but she wasn't very interested in the murder right now. Her brain spun around the question on how to help both Mr. Riley and the McAsters. Logically, Charly and Julian falling love had the potential to fix everybody's problems, but they might need a little helping along. But how to provide this? She'd have to talk to her parents. If they found time to listen to her at all between a murder and fighting.

They might be thinking that they were hiding their problems from her, but Jane was a very observant girl. The tension between them was undeniable and while their daughter knew that both were as thoroughly stubborn as they were in love with each other, it did give her just the slightest of stomach aches.

She resurfaced from her pondering to realise that Melody was pouting.

“I thought we would find him,” she moaned.

“But we aren't getting anywhere, are we?” Jane asked sharply. “All we figured out was that your sister has been hiding her secret love.”

“Rather excitingly,” Melody grinned. Jane tilted her head. She couldn't disagree with that.

“But exposing a murderer is very different,” she stated wisely. “And a lot more dangerous.”

Melody didn't get to answer as a young man rushed towards them.

“Here you are!” Harry called from afar. “Miss Green said you were headed towards the gardens.”

Jane frowned, she couldn't remember having told Miss Green anything about their headings. But then the old lady seemed to always know a little more than she let on.

Harry reached them panting.

“How are you getting on with the investigating?” he asked.

“Jane doesn't want-”

“I don't think it's a good idea to proceed,” Jane said quickly, her voice sounding squeaky to her own ears.

“Why would you say that?” Harry asked. His dark eyes were glued to hers, boring into her very soul. Jane looked for help from Melody.

“Well, it's rather dangerous,” he friend tried. “Imagine we find the killer and he tries to hurt us,” she added after a moments thought. Harry grinned, turning his attention back to Jane.

“He used poison. How is he going to hurt us? By hurling a jar of jam?”

The girls shrugged in unison.

“I've been thinking. I believe we should talk to Lilah; I believe she knows something,” he said, when he found no resistance. Jane felt a little spark of annoyance in her stomach that she couldn't quite sort. But he also was still looking at her and she couldn't say no.

“Let's talk to Lilah then,” she agreed weakly, glancing at the sun that was turning towards the horizon.

X

Jack was soaked in sweat, worn, yet strangely satisfied when he slipped his key into the front door. The house lay in complete harmonious silence and he dared to hope that he could get washed and changed before crossing anybody's path. Despite the conclusion that he had to see his tango lessons through, his conscience reminded him frequently of his missteps and he felt no desire to annoy Phryne any further by parading his visits to Riya in front of her eyes.

The Inspector managed to sneak into his bedroom without hearing or seeing any part of his family and with some relief he sank onto the edge of his bed where he started undressing by loosening his tie.

He _did_ hear the door open behind his back. Then close. But his suddenly shaky fingers just continued fumbling with his buttons. His heart was beating against his ribcage as he waited for her words, her rage, anything she might want to get off her chest. He would give her time to bring her anger out in the open, he had decided, would be patient until she felt ready to talk, because he had things to say and he needed her to listen.

But instead of the expected confrontation he felt the mattress shift. Jack's breath caught when her palms touched his back, ran over his damp shirt. His muscles flexed automatically under Phryne's caress with her cool breath brushing his neck. The warm hands slipped around to his chest, searching for a heartbeat. Jack's fingers moved up to wrap around hers without any thought. She didn't pull away.

He found himself torn. With plenty of anger boiling underneath the surface, he also yearned to end their fight and so he allowed himself to relax into her white arms as he sensed her nestling against his back. This felt very much like a peace treaty.

In fact, Phryne had come upstairs with the full intention of talking things through - but something in her heart had snapped at the sight of Jack sitting on the edge of his bed. There had been a change in him, something about the way he held himself.

She couldn't help the sensation of needing to hold onto him so he wouldn't slip away. Burying her nose in the nape of his neck she cuddled into him, ignoring the damp heat of his shirt, the thin layer of sweat covering his shoulders. What she was unable to shrug off was that his scent was mixed with Riya's perfume and the quiet anger in her stomach seared away despite her best intentions. A sharp hiss brought Phryne out of her thoughts to the realisation that she had dug her nails into his chest. She didn't apologise.

His grip on her hand tightened, willing her to let go. Phryne retreated with a swallowed down gasp of pain and Jack spun to face her. The glitter in his eyes was more dangerous than she'd ever seen aimed at her before and caused the breath to catch in her throat when he raised his hands. Framing her face with his palms he looked at her, searching, penetrating, then leaned in for a kiss.

Phryne felt herself tremble when his tongue demanded entrance. His mouth was neither gentle nor desperate, instead his strong hands running down her neck seemed determined to not let her get away and for a moment it occurred to Phryne that he might sense their distance as fervently as she did. She could feel his heart beat underneath his shirtsleeves like a drum, his hands slipping effortlessly underneath her blouse, caressing the warm skin of her back. Without any resistance she let him lay her down on the bed before he followed, their legs entwining in a messy knot of limbs as he kissed her unhurriedly, adamant hands unbuttoning her clothes. He was still sweaty and slightly smelling of French perfume, yet neither seemed to deter him in the slightest and something about his confidence left Phryne breathlessly melting into his attentions.

With his fingertips already trailing over her hipbone she finally managed to release him of his open shirt, exposing taunt muscles. Unconsciously Phryne's thumbnail followed a scar on his shoulder while the rest of her body was busy with the sensation of Jack's mouth caressing every inch of warm, naked skin he could find, his strong hand in pursuit of more.

He retreated for a long moment to look at her and Phryne could feel heat spread through the pit of her stomach. His eyes had darkened, his chest was heaving while his fingers restlessly caressed her curves. Phryne allowed herself to lay back and let her lashes flutter shut, giving herself into being seduced by this man who she'd thought she'd known - until five days ago when something had sparked inside him that she couldn't grasp. The thought threatened to send her into another tail spin, but instead she blindly grabbed for Jack, pulling him closer. His lips tasted warm and familiar and were in absolutely no hurry to retreat, reassuring her that he wasn't completely lost to her.

In the darkness behind her lashes she fumbled with his clothes, suddenly urgently needing to feel him. She encountered no protest and moments later his warm skin was melded against hers, his heart beat matching her own. He held her tightly, as he sank into her, built a sedate rhythm that caused her heart to ache and her hips to meet his. When she opened her eyes she found herself scared at the intensity that met her both in his look and in her own chest. He paused, taking time to stroke her hair and for a brief moment it appeared like he was going to say something. But he didn't and despite not knowing, she could feel the disappointment about unspoken things spread through her chest like tar.

Jack felt his love so keenly in this moment that he thought he might burst if he didn't share it with her. Yet it wasn't right to spring this on her when they'd barely talked in days. There were so many words in desperate need to be said that the three lying on his tongue seemed simply not sufficient to fix what was broken. And he didn't dare the attempt in fear of cheapening them forever.

And so he stayed silent, save the occasional moan, as he built their lust. A true gentleman, he watched her take the step over the cliff first, following right behind. He held her tightly while she caught her breath and even tighter when he sensed her slipping off into a soft slumber. Jack lay still, felt his arm go to sleep underneath her shoulder, watched the golden sunlight turn orange and finally disappear, leaving him in gloomy darkness.

All the time his head wouldn't stop spinning with thought, with regret and anger, with apologies and explanations, with love and guilt. Phryne, usually his anchor in the world, was currently out of his reach even while she was lying right in his arms and he couldn't help feeling lost. Without coming to any conclusions he decided that it was time to take a bath and find out if Jane had returned home. Phryne awoke a mere two minutes after he had gently retrieved his arm from underneath her and left for the bathroom.

X

Jane hadn't returned home. In fact she was spinning on her heels at Williamstown Station, trying to orientate herself in the unfamiliar neighbourhood. Mel bumped into her, as she climbed down onto the platform.

“So, what way?” she asked. Jane turned to Harry, who grinned.

“Down there,” he pointed, leading the way. Jane followed with a glance at Melody whose cheeks were flushed with excitement. Her friends really enjoyed the hunt but Jane couldn't explain the bad feeling in the pit of stomach. It probably was just because darkness was setting in and she hadn't even gotten a chance to telephone that she would be late. Her parents would be worried by now.

It was still a rather odd thought that someone could be worried about her not being home by dark and not for fear of losing their 'property'. Even keener she felt that she shouldn't just disappear on them.

They'd been walking several minutes when Harry finally stopped in front of a large, nondescript building.

“That's us,” he said.

Jane bit her lip, trying not to wonder how exactly he knew where Lilah lived down to her house. She'd been aware of them getting on rather well, but not quite _this_ well.

“Our older brothers went to school together,” Harry explained quickly as if he had read her thoughts.

An elderly maid opened the door. She smiled, revealing that she was missing most of her front teeth but nevertheless she was incredibly friendly as she ushered the three adolescents into a big sitting room that looked much more cosy than the outside of the house.

“Sit down, sit down, I'll call Miss Lilah straight away,” she busily mumbled before disappearing. Jane stared at the cold fireplace, suddenly uncertain about coming. Neither her nor Mel were close to Lilah Saenger, who was always friendly but didn't seen interested in anything more than small talk. And how would they explain that they were sleuthing after Mr. Steeger's murderer? She hadn't need worried. A moment later the dark-haired girl showed in the door and her face lit up when she realised who her visitors were.

“Harry? Magda didn't say it was you! And Jane, Mel? What brings you here?”

Jane felt a pair of eyes glance at her, but it was only a brief sensation. Lilah sat down opposite from them, her cheeks glowing.

“You know that my parents are investigating Mr. Steeger's murder,” Jane finally explained, when nobody else felt obligated to speak. The girl nodded. “Well, we are...” she glanced at Mel.

“...we are trying to help them.”

“Find him first,” Harry explained eagerly.

“Or her,” Melody threw in.

Lilah's face fell.

“So, what do you want from me?” she asked after a pause, her voice changed. Jane twisted her hands, suddenly feeling like she had spoiled something.

“Harry thinks you know something,” she added carefully.

“Right,” the girl said slowly. “And what would that be?”

“Come on, Lilah, you hinted at it the other day,” Harry exclaimed, starting to get irritated.

“Oh, that.”

“What is 'that'?” Melody asked, moving in her seat. Lilah shrugged her shoulders, obviously embarrassed.

“Gianni tried to kiss Agnes last week, in the corner behind the old oak tree,” she said.

“So?” Jane asked, not understanding the fuss.

“And Agnes was sweet on Mr. Steeger,” Mel said. “She told me herself. Mind you, I don't blame her,” she added after a moment's thought. “He was very handsome and so lovely on the dance floor.”

Lilah nodded.

“So she told him that she could never love him, because her heart was already taken.”

Jane frowned.

“You think that Gianni killed him? Out of jealousy?”

“Or Agnes? Out of thwarted love?” Mel added with glazed eyes.

Lilah shared a look with Harry.

“I don't think so, which is why I didn't mention it to the police. They are both just being stupid. Steeger would never have left his wife to be with a silly schoolgirl and Gianni talks about nothing else but his bible and having a hundred children. I'm not surprised that Agnes doesn't want him.”

Jane took all that in, wondering if she should tell Jack about it. It seemed only fair that he would know.

“We'll have to ask them,” Harry decided beside her, completely oblivious to her thoughts. Melody yawned.

“But not tonight,” she protested. “Even my parents will have noticed my absence. And Jane's might have half of the City South Police on our trail by now,” she added laughing. Jane shot her an angry look.

“Tomorrow morning then before dancing,” she said after a break. “Lets meet at the entrance and we'll do it together.”

Their hostess seemed to have withdrawn into her own world, her dark braids hanging into her face. She looked sad, Jane found and suddenly she heard herself say: “Are you coming, too, Lilah?”

There was quite a bit of obvious surprise crossing the girl's features, but she didn't hesitate to agree. Jane left the house with a warm feeling in her stomach. It lasted all the way home.

X

Mac laughed, splayed across one of the armchairs, as Phryne handed her her second Martini.

“So, let me get this straight? Jack has taken up secret dancing lessons?”

Phryne sank back onto the loveseat with a grim smile.

“So it appears. He has decided to become a keen tanguero, spending hours every day at Riya's house.”

She downed half her glass in one gulp, trying not to think too hard about this.

“And you, who has always taunted him to be a little more adventurous on the social parquet, hate that he has overcome his reservations?” Mac added, smirking.

“If you put it like that you make me sound utterly silly,” Mrs. Robinson protested.

“You_ are _being terribly silly, Phryne!”

The Lady Detective felt a spark of annoyance but realised with a single look at her old friend that there was no ill-will in her statement. Mac was just being her usual, honest self - a habit that Phryne appreciated at all other times. Grumpily she had another sip of her martini.

“Supposedly it is all for my benefit.”

The bitterness in her own voice startled her.

“Jack was very fond of you the last time I talked to him,” Mac stated thoughtfully. “I don't find it all that hard to believe that he would get his feet in a tangle for you.”

“He refused to dance with me,” Phryne said after a pause, crossing the room to mix herself yet another drink. The glass in her hand had magically emptied in no time at all. “Yet, no such reservations with Riya.”

“Oh.”

It was all the Doctor said for a long time. The fire crackled along happily, dipping the room into a little more heat than was comfortable. Phryne caught herself briefly wondering why Jane wasn't home yet. She often stayed at the McAster's house, yet usually she telephoned. In another fifteen minutes she would pick up the phone herself, Phryne decided.

“So, what do you intend to do?” she heard Mac ask.

“I'm not sure what there is to do.”

“Well, are you going to divorce him?”

Phryne gasped for air as the thought invaded her brain, a picture of Jack, looking at her with dark eyes across the magistrates court as their marriage dissolved into dust.

“Whatever makes you ask that?” she ground out, still short of breath.

“Well, it's what you 'normal' people do when you grow tired of your spouses, isn't it?” Mac quipped, happily dangling her legs over the edge of the chair.

“I am _not_ tired of Jack,” Phryne growled, “and I will certainly not divorce him!”

Her third drink followed the other two in an effort to soothe the shock.

“You might want to try and sort things then,” Elizabeth pointed out grinning. Steps came down the stairs and Phryne gestured for her to be quiet. Jack greeted their friend briefly before he retreated to the hall again. They heard him talking on the phone and he returned to the parlour a minute later, looking pale.

“Jane isn't at the MacAster's house,” he said, his voice unreadable. “She and Melody have disappeared from their garden in the afternoon.”

Phryne pulled herself into an upright position.

“Why didn't they inform us?”

Jack shrugged helplessly.

“I'm going out to look for them,” he announced, his hat already in hand.

“I'll drive,” Phryne said, pulling herself to her feet. But the three martinis she had downed in less than half an hour had taken their toll.

“Absolutely not,” Jack said, watching her unsteady movement. In the background Mac rolled her eyes at the couple. In the following silence they all heard the key turn in the lock and a surprised Jane found herself being stared at by three adults.

“Where have you been?” Phryne asked a tad harsher than she had intended. “We were worried!”

“I...” Jane considered a blunt lie but realised, looking from one to the other, that she couldn't get away with that. So a half-truth would have to do.

“We visited Lilah,” she said after a break. “Up in Williamstown.”

“And you didn't feel the need to tell the McAsters? Or us for that matter?” Jack asked equally annoyed. Their daughter looked reasonably contrite.

“I'm sorry. I didn't expect us to run that late.”

Jack nodded, pulling her into a half-embrace that told an observant person, as say for example a Lady Detective, exactly how scared he had been for those brief minutes. Phryne watched the scene with a rainbow of feelings.

After father and daughter had trudged upstairs to have a chat about the benefits of telephone calls, she leaned back in her cushions with a faraway expression that was only half owed to the alcohol in her blood.

“You look like you have mischief on your mind,” Mac observed.

“I believe you do have a point,” Phryne answered, absent-mindedly nipping on her empty glass. “We really do need to talk.”


	32. Maxixe

“Are you not going to head home?”

The girl looked up as the elderly lady stepped through the door, a broom in her hands.

“I'd rather sit here reading, if you don't mind,” Vicky said.

Miss Green smiled.

“Better than an empty house, isn't it?” she asked. Miss Adams shrugged, returning to her book. She looked pale and worn the teacher noticed with some worry. The shy girl wasn't easy to get close to and after Steeger's death she had withdrawn even deeper into her little shell. Miss Green watched her out of the corner of her eye while she swept the floor. She was a little surprised that Nicolas Steeger was so sorely missed by Victoria; she had always suspected that he wasn't quite her type. But then, it just proved to show that you couldn't look into anyone's heart.

Mia sighed, wishing the young woman would open up to her. Since her parent's death three years ago she was fending all for herself with two jobs and a tiny inherited house that was indeed very empty. But she also seemed in no hurry to fill her life with anything else – other than books.

“What is the library offering today?” she asked without looking up from the work at hand. For a long moment she didn't receive any answer and was about to accept that Victoria Adams simply didn't want to be spoken to, when the young girl reappeared from her dream world.

“Pardon me?”

“What are you reading?” Mia asked, leaning on her broomstick.

“Oh...” Vicky looked at the book as if she had forgotten. “Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet.”

Miss Green nodded, suppressing a smile.

“Very romantic.”

“Very tragic,” Vicky murmured, returning to her reading material.

The elderly woman continued to sweep and tidy up in silence. There was obviously no small talk needed.

X

“Goodnight then.”

The Inspector rose with a glance at his wife, who seemed not overly broken up about his decision to head upstairs. Mac smiled grimly at the scene, swirling the whisky in her glass.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

He wasn't tired, yet felt that his presence was currently not appreciated. Phryne had been quiet most of the last hour while he had shared a polite drink with Mac, talking about her job and the Collins's parenthood. It occurred to him that his wife was waiting for him to retire so she could finally speak with her friend in private and Jack didn't enjoy being an obstacle. Despite this conclusion he left with a sense of sadness. She couldn't hold onto her grudge forever, could she?

Taking the steps slowly, due to his aching limb and his sore heart, he pondered how much of the situation was his fault. His sneaking about had certainly not been a good decision, but he still struggled to grasp just why it angered her so very much that she'd felt the need to lash out in such a harsh manner. Her words still burned where they had engrained themselves into his heart.

Jack took a deep breath before knocking on his daughter's door. His argument with Phryne was certainly not a subject he wanted to weigh Jane down with. There was no answer and after a long moment he stuck a curious head through the gap, finding nothing but an empty bed. Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise. He was quite certain that he would have noticed her returning downstairs. Then a thought struck him. Of course.

The rooftop lay in silvery moonlight, a cool night breeze wafting over the smell of flowering trees. For a moment Jack considered that he may have gotten it wrong but then he spotted her lying quietly on her back, one arm folded underneath her head. Jane glanced up at him when he sat down and smiled. He took it as an invitation. After a few seconds of hesitance filled with thoughts of poor Mr. Butler having to wash his clothes, Jack stretched out beside her, their shoulders now almost touching. The night sky was beautiful and the Inspector slowly felt some calmness return to his heart.

“Are you worried about tomorrow?” he asked after some time. She shook her head without answering. The stars glimmered quietly in the dark.

“It's just dancing and curtsying,” she finally said. Jack couldn't help but grin.

“I do know a fair few people who would struggle with that. Myself included.”

There was faint giggling and the Inspector's grin broadened. He always cherished making her laugh. It was one of his favourite sounds in the world.

“I do hope your amusement is regarding the image of me curtsying rather than dancing.”

To his surprise, Jane's head turned to look at him.

“You are aware we were merely teasing you?” she asked. Jack hummed something that could have been approval.

“And with Mrs. Santi's help your skills should improve anyway,” she pointed out casually, returning her eyes to the stars. A warm wind swept over the rooftop, whisking away the Inspector's stunned silence.

“How did you know?” he finally asked in lack of anything better to say. He felt her shrug.

“I am a Detective's daughter,” Jane quipped.

“Ward.”

It slipped out before he could stop himself. It had meant to be a joke, but now he found himself holding his breath.

“You aren't in the habit of letting go of a grudge, are you?” she asked, her mood to his endless relief not dampened in the slightest. Jack had to think about this for a while.

“I fear I am suffering of a rather good memory,” he admitted, “especially to the pain attached.”

Jane had nothing to say to this, but her hand wrapped around his a moment later. Jack found himself holding on tightly. An owl called up from somewhere in the garden.

“Mel said the other day that you weren't my real parents,” the girl explained quietly. The Inspector glanced at her but her face was unreadable.

“Your friend is even more silly than I thought.”

Jane smiled.

“It made me think. I believe I can't be bothered worrying about what the world calls this arrangement.”

Jack's fingers pressed his daughter's without any words coming through his tight throat. He felt his palm going sweaty, but Jane didn't seem to notice, instead continuing: “I've never had a proper family before. It's really nice.”

“I'm not entirely certain if proper is the word to describe us,” he laughed. In silence, they watched a shooting star cross the sky. There was only one thing coming to mind that was lacking.

“Have you made your wish?” he asked. She nodded in the darkness.

“I'm not telling you,” she said meekly, when he didn't comment. Jack grinned.

“I have no desire to know any details. But I am assuming it involves a certain young man?”

“That is entirely possible.”

The Inspector decided to drop the subject after her vague answer. He truthfully didn't need to know. And he had certainly no intention of sharing his own wish.

“I doubt the stars are going to convince her of your love,” Jane said in the darkness. Jack snapped out of his thoughts. The idea of Phryne questioning his devotion to her seemed rather ridiculous.

“I cannot imagine that she harbours any doubt on the matter. After all she is the one dancing with Mr. Riley,” he pointed out, hearing himself sound like a jealous teenager. It was a thin defence, it occurred to him.

In the same breath he wondered if his motivation to learn tango was owed to a longing for revenge. He had to admit that it may have played it's part in his original decision along with the desire to be more than Inspector Robinson with two left feet. But the music had taken on a life of it's own. It had crawled underneath his skin, lit a passion he hadn't anticipated. The more he danced, the deeper his understanding of Phryne's desire to tango grew.

He realised with a start how much he yearned to be her dancing partner - if she could be convinced to give up more advanced dancers for his benefit, which seemed unlikely at this stage. She appeared to drift further away from him by the day and the thought that soon she might be completely out of his grasp caused his throat to tighten uncomfortably.

“I don't think she is doing it with the intention to offend you,” Jane pointed out. “She would never hurt you on purpose.”

Jack remembered the poisonous words that had cut through him like a knife through warm butter. He wasn't quite as convinced that she was unable to harm him. Then something else occurred to him.

“She'd removed the bullets,” he mumbled, more to himself than her. Jane was obviously startled by his sudden change of subjects.

“When she was aiming her pistol at me...” He trailed off, realising that he couldn't explain the details of their murder role play with one breath of air. “I fear it is a rather long and completely irrelevant story.” He sensed Jane nodding in the darkness, seemingly accepting his confused jumble of words.

“But I think you might have a point,” he added after a moment's thought.

He turned his head to smile at Jane who beamed back at him.

“And also, Mr. Riley is in love with Charly,” she said, just when they'd settled back down. The surprised silence only lasted a moment.

“You are indeed a Detective's daughter.”

There was just a faint grin answering Jack, but the stars strewn glittering over the black silk of the firmament seemed to stretch into the pit of his stomach as his thoughts twirled through the night. There was the possibility that Phryne's heart was still his and he just needed to reclaim it. But sadly he had not the slightest idea how to accomplish that.

“So, what else have you found out?” he asked into the serene night.

“How did you...?”

He smiled at having thrown her for once.

“I am a Detective.”

X

The glass burst into a million tiny shards littering the old oak floor. The figure ducked into the shadows, waited if the sound had woken anyone. But the surrounding houses stayed silent and after a moment a white hand slipped through the broken window and turned the handle. A thick scarlet drop ran down a stubborn piece of glass that had remained in the frame. But the woman didn't seem deterred by the cut on her arm. Instead she glanced into the dim room, just barely lit by the first dawn. It took her mere minutes to find what she was after.

X

He awoke, gasping for air. Grey morning light filled every inch of his bedroom, suffocating him. It took Jack a moment to find his senses. A nightmare!

They had become less and farther between in the last two years and often he couldn't remember the content the very moment his eyes snapped open. But he knew all the same what had happened when he awoke, bathed in sweat with dark thoughts swirling through the back of his mind, just out of his grasp. They wouldn't leave until lunch time.

At present another sensation, however, surprised him more. In terror his arm had slung tighter around another body, one that was soft, warm and currently protesting with a quiet murmur. Phryne had still been chattering with Mac into the night when the Inspector had turned in, which had put him in front of the conundrum if he should risk sleeping in her bed or withdraw to his alone. In the end he had chosen to respect her privacy rather than invade her room.

Obviously Phryne had made a decision as well, one that left her wrapped in his embrace, her silk covered back snugly pressed against his chest. Jack, gently, very gently, released his grip just an inch, a movement which she commented with an appreciative sigh. The invading dawn told him that it was time to rise, after all there was still a murderer on the loose; yet he couldn't bring himself to leave this moment behind. Jack let his eyes fall shut and took a deep breath filled with her scent. Quietly they lay in the grey morning, her chest rising and falling underneath his arm, her hair tickling his cheek.

The Inspector must have dozed off again, since when his eyes opened the room was dipped into bright daylight. After biting his lip to suppress a curse, he slowly and with considerable regret detangled himself from his wife. She lay in exactly the same position, wrapped in a blanket of deep sleep. Jack couldn't resist brushing the lightest of kisses to her shoulder before he left her warmth behind and collected his clothes.

On the way out of the room he hesitated for a brief moment in the door frame. Her features were relaxed, lost in happy dreams. He rather hoped that he played a part in those still. Maybe once they had found the killer and gotten Jane safely through her debutante ball they would finally find some time to sort through their differences, he pondered. Swallowing down a lump in his throat the Inspector tore himself away from his wife.

An hour later, Phryne awoke. She stretched like a contented cat in the cream coloured sheets that still smelled faintly of Jack, before sitting up with the cheekiest of smiles. An observer could have suspected that a plan had ripened over night which promised plenty of trouble. Luckily there was nobody to watch her.


	33. Khon

Dot's night had been a short one and so her eyes were still half closed in a stifled yawn when she carried the dress up to Jane's room. She found resistance in the form of a soft and rather bouncy wall of clothes. A gasp of surprise sounded as the Inspector peeled the maid from himself, trying to not push her down the stairs in the process.

“Good morning, Mrs. Collins.” 

Dorothy turned bright red as she remembered their last meeting in which she hadn't been any less clumsy while her Master had worn a whole lot less of his three-piece-suit.

“I'm sorry, Inspector.”

“Don't mention it. An urgent delivery?”

Dot's eyes followed his to the fabric clutched between her fingers.

“Jane's dress, I just finished pressing it.”

With a melancholic smile Jack inspected the white silk. A sadness snuck into his heart that by now was familiar. A few more years and Jane would be off to be someone's wife or possibly an adventuress fighting her way through jungles or a doctor saving uncountable lives...

“I see she is set on turning heads tonight?” he quipped.

“She will look beautiful,” Dot nodded with a smile.

Jack thought of Harry Taylor. Despite Jane's pleading for the boy, he still wasn't particularly comfortable with the young man and his attentions. But then the Inspector had enough on his plate with Phryne and a murder, he was certainly not going to try and argue the point any further with his daughter. Jack had every intention of enjoying the few years he was granted under a roof with Jane as much as humanly possible. He took a deep breath.

“Then I had better go and close this case so she can enjoy the ball in peace,” he smiled, dancing on the narrow stairs to let Dorothy past.

“Good luck, Inspector.”

Dot had just reached the last step when she heard her Master call after her.

“Mrs. Collins?”

She turned, again keenly sensing heat on her cheeks.

“Would you be able to tell me how one would go about making jam from dried fruit? I'd imagine it would be rather hard?”

Dot cocked her head.

“Not as such, Inspector. It would be necessary to soak them for several hours in water though, likely overnight. Is this about the Belladonna murder?” 

Jack grinned, noting that her voice was coloured with excitement. So, Phryne had shared their case.

“Indeed it is. And you were most helpful.” 

He smiled and was off, deep in thought. Dot stood for a moment longer, trying to fight down any memories of the Inspector sans his clothes before she headed upstairs to finally finish her delivery. 

X

“You seem to be in a very good mood,” Julian observed after they stopped, panting, on their last figure.

“I might have had a good night's sleep,” the Lady Detective smiled, tilting her head as he released her. There was silence for a long moment while the young man seemed to struggle if to share what was on his mind. Finally his need to open up won over his caution.

“I wish I shared your luck,” Julian said, a furrow in his brow. “It appears as if I may never sleep again.”

Phryne watched him deep in thought as he restarted the music and approached her again.

“Will the unsuitability of Miss McAster truly keep you from pursuing happiness?” she asked when he wrapped her in his arms.

“Funny you should ask that,” he smiled. “I have been pondering that very question until the early hours of the morning.”

“What conclusion did you reach?” Phryne asked. He smiled thinly and for a moment she was worried.

“I believe there is a form of love that shouldn't be denied.”

For a long moment their feet moved in utter harmony as they hung after their very own thoughts on the matter.

“And I am convinced I have found this very kind of love. I cannot and more importantly do not wish to live without Charlotte.”

A smile spread over Phryne's features as she turned into a grapevine.

“I consider that a very good decision.”

“But the practicality of it is much more complicated than the conclusion,” Riley added.

“Indeed it is. But then love is never an easy task to accomplish.”

He pivoted, bringing her along in his warm, strong arms and for a moment both didn't have enough breath to continue their conversation. But once they returned to flying over the floor, Phryne's heels kicking in the air, he asked: “After the passionate appeal for love I received from your husband when I asked his advice, I assumed you to be a very happily married woman? 

A simper was all his dancing partner could manage while they twirled. Phryne desperately wanted to know what exactly Jack had said, but instead chose to answer the question. 

“I am. But at times it is hard to remember that.”

Another turn.

“I don't understand,” Julian panted.

Mrs. Robinson's eyes twinkled while she bent backwards, caught by his hand before being pressed snug against his chest again. His heart was pounding, if caused by their conversation or the dance was hard to say.

“Believe me, you will,” she smiled.

“Wish me luck then, Phryne,” he laughed. “Because tonight I will try and convince Charlotte to reconsider. And draw the wrath of my father on myself forever, if I should succeed.”

“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Mrs. Robinson said. “But do me a favour, will you?”

“Just about anything,” he grinned, his hand slipping up her back.

“Delay your undertaking until after our tango. I would be very miffed if all this exercise had happened in vain,” Phryne quipped, rubbing her ankle up his calf. The only answer she got was laughter. In her head the plan took further shape. Everything would work out. She'd just have to make some telephone calls. And see Jack of course, she always needed to see Jack.

X

Jane had a spring in her step as she left the small sitting room and climbed the stairs to the Green Salon where they would go through the slow waltz and foxtrot with Madame Claudine for the last time. The conversation with Phryne over breakfast had sparked a hope in her heart that things would be settled by the night. Her foster mother had all but promised that she would make her amends – and, knowing her, force Jack to make his. Jane smiled, but gasped when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows.

“I thought you wanted to ask Gianni and Agnes what they know?” Harry hissed. Mel grinned beside him.

“They won't come,” Jane said coldly. “I've told Jack about them. He will question them at the station this morning.”

“What did you do that for?” Harry asked, visibly annoyed. Jane straightened her shoulders, looking past him at Lilah who was leaning against the wall. The girl was already a little too involved in this whole sleuthing for her taste. So much that she could've almost forgotten that she'd invited her.

“He's my father!” she said rather hotly, glancing at Mel who had her mouth half open, trying to get a comment in. “And don't you dare say any different.”

The girl's mouth closed obediently.

“You didn't have to blab though! Not before we knew,” Harry protested. 

“He is a Detective-Inspector. If there is anything to it he will find out,” Jane hissed between clenched teeth. The boys eyes glittered angrily but Jane had no intention to back down. Funnily she felt her stomach flip with the strangest of feelings as she stared at him, ready to scratch his eyes out for being so stupid, yet sensing a pull that she hadn't anticipated. She really, really wanted to kiss him almost as much as hit him.

“Please stop arguing,” a calm, sensible voice said. Jane tore herself away from Harry's dark eyes with some effort to look at Lilah whose porcelain white skin looked even paler than usually if it was at all possible. It made her look strangely endearing.

“What's done is done. We have to finish our dancing lessons,” Lilah shrugged. “And since the Inspector knows, we don't have to worry about Gianni and Agnes anymore, do we?”

“I guess not,” Harry growled, shooting Jane another menacing glance. She couldn't help but wonder if he had been trying to impress Lilah. And she had spoiled his attempt. Jane smiled grimly at the idea.

“If that is all you wanted to discuss, I am going to head upstairs,” she said, “Are you coming?”

The question was aimed at Melody, who hurried to join her friend towards the dancing salon under the roof.

Behind stayed Harry with Lilah, who to a observant person might have been looking somewhat worried. But her friend wasn't in any mood to watch her, being too distracted by the now deserted stair case.

“Well done,” she finally quipped sarcastically. “You know that Gianni will blab, don't you? And it doesn't appear like exposing him has helped your case.”

She turned on her heel and walked off down the stairs in a huff. Harry shook his head in silence. Three women really were too much for a single man to handle.

X

“It's not right,” the young man insisted. “Rubbing you body against someone else's, especially if you aren't even married to them.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, thinking about him rubbing against Riya Santi less than an hour ago. It had actually felt very right. But, it had taken him a little while to stop blushing every time she'd brushed up against him in any 'inappropriate' way. It was only tango after all. The embrace of music. Riya had broken his resistance by making him laugh every time he threatened to bolt from her house in flushed embarrassment.

It took some convincing to return Jack's thoughts to the interview room.

“But Mr. Steeger was married to his dancing partner,” he explained gently.

“This kind of behaviour belongs into the bedroom,” Gianni Tippoci insisted. “Surely there is no doubt about that, Inspector?”

Jack cleared his throat, wondering if to explain that he didn't agree in the slightest.

“I don't think my personal opinion on the dance is relevant,” he said smoothly after a moment of silence. “I was informed that you had another reason to dislike the victim?”

Gianni's eyes darkened, a shadow whispering over his olive skin.

“Agnes?”

Jack leaned back in his chair, waiting for the young man to spill the beans.

“You are rather fond of Miss Newchester?” he asked when there was no further explanation.

“I would like her to marry me. One day, of course,” he added hastily.

“But she refused?” Jack asked. Gianni's face darkened further.

“She did.”

“She had an infatuation with Mr. Steeger.”

It wasn't a question as such.

“Agnes is a silly girl.” Mr. Tippoci spat. “He was married.”

“And yet she denied your advances in favour of him,” the Inspector stated calmly.

“I offered her my hand and she lusted after this casanova of a man! Who didn't care in the slightest about his responsibility to society, about his wife who he had sworn faith to in the eyes of God!”

The young man's raised voice slowly skipped into dangerous territory. Jack waited until he had gasped for breath.

“So you killed him?” he asked calmly. A chair clattered to the floor, as Gianni jumped to his feet.

“What?! I have never laid a finger on him!”

His agitated voice trailed off, when he realised that someone stood in the door. Phryne smiled.

“I see I have arrived just in time,” she quipped, peeling the gloves from her fingers. Jack glanced at her, not sure if to be annoyed or amused by her appearance. It was rather bad timing. Gianni collected his chair and sat back down, now visibly embarrassed.

“I believe Mr. Tippoci was just about to tell me why he thought Mr. Steeger didn't respect his holy matrimony,” Jack smiled grimly.

The young man fiddled with his fingers for a while before finally looking up.

“If you absolutely must know, I saw him 'dance' the other morning. With Lilah. I was so disgusted, I had to leave.”

He scowled at the mere memory and Phryne shared a look with the Inspector.

“When you say dancing...?”

“He actually means dancing,” Jack explained calmly, writing something into his notebook.

After some uncomfortable silence he looked up at the young man, who was still staring at him.

“You are free to leave,” he said, returning his eyes straight to the paperwork. Gianni Tippoci rose awkwardly to his feet and all but fled the building.

“So, what was that about?,” Phryne asked happily after the door fell shut. When he didn't react immediately, she gently retrieved the notebook from his hands. It was rather disappointingly filled with small drawings and single sentences that didn't make much sense to her, but then she was more interested in his attention. The Inspector smiled. 

“Jane pointed out to me that Mr. Tippoci has romantic interest in Miss Newchester.”

Phryne looked up in surprise.

“And Agnes was sweet on our murder victim,” she remembered her interview, the puzzle pieces falling into place.

“Exactly,” Jack answered with an aura of calmness, getting to his feet. “So much for no motives in the children.” 

“Do you believe Gianni to be the murderer?” Phryne inquired.

“No. For one I don't believe his infatuation with Miss Newchester to be very serious.”

“And?” Phryne asked. He stored his notebook away before answering and opened the door, letting her through. 

“And going through with a scheme of a murder by poisonous jam requires somebody with an almost ingenious mind, which I don't think he possesses,” he explained, opening the door for her. 

“So, our thoughts are back to Madame Germain?” Phryne asked.

Jack tilted his head in thought while they arrived at his office.

“Certainly a clear possibility, even though I am still struggling with the idea that she would kill her best dancing teacher on her own premises and in consequence undoubtedly damage her business. That would be quite stupid and that is the one thing she is not.” 

“She may have aimed at his wife,” Phryne pointed out.

“Which I find likelier,” Jack answered, sitting down behind his desk. “But then the possibility of killing Mr. Steeger, considering his heart problem, was much higher.”

“And only his wife and Madame Germain knew about it.”

Jack nodded.

“Unless it wasn't meant to kill him,” the Inspector pondered aloud. “The side effects of his intoxication were rather... interesting.”

“You think whoever poisoned him was merely trying to humiliate him?” his wife asked. He shrugged.

“It seems possible. The concentration of poison wasn't high.”

The idea send a shiver down Phryne's spine.

“A highly elaborate prank?” she asked, for the first time properly looking at the Inspector. His grey eyes were dark with excitement and all she could do was not climb onto his lap and crush her lips to his. “Which would point at the debutantes...” she continued slowly. 

“Or an attempt to get rid of a rival?” The Inspector teased with a small grin, obviously hinting at Julian Riley. Phryne didn't take the bait.

“In that case my money is on Miss McAster,” she smiled instead.

“I harbour my doubts there.” 

Jack absent-mindedly picked up a pencil and started playing with it. Phryne tried her best to look nonchalant as she enquired after his thoughts. She couldn't help but love when Jack got absorbed in a case. Despite his calm surface she could feel him radiating exhilaration. He was enjoying the chase, piecing evidence together, the ideas floating through his mind. He was irresistible in those moments, always had been. 

“For one there is her alibi, she was indeed getting fitted for a wedding dress,” he explained.

Phryne waved this argument away with her hands.

“She could've have just as well slipped into the dancing school while we were hunting her through the park. In fact a game of hide-and-seek seems almost perfect to disappear.”

The Inspector tipped his head in agreement.

“But we did see her in the bushes, if you recall. And I also had a very interesting conversation this morning with Mrs. Collins about the art of cooking jam.”

“Oh, Jack, I didn't know you were interested in trading recipes,” Phryne said sweetly.

He scowled at her but ignored her teasing.

“Dried berries would have to be soaked in water overnight before being cooked. Considering the amount of staff the McAster's employ, I doubt Charlotte would have had a chance to go through with such an effort undiscovered.”

“I'm sure she could have found a place,” Phryne protested. Jack frowned in thought, wondering just why his wife was so insistent on suspecting Miss McAster.

“And then there is also the time the berries were purchased,” he continued after a long moment of measuring her silently with his eyes. “A day before Charlotte could have known about her lover dancing with Mrs. Steeger.”

“So she might have been aiming at Mr. Steeger after all to secure the dance for Julian.” 

Phryne got up, grabbing for her hat. “I was on my way to the McAster's house to discuss tonight's transportation. So I might as well have a word with the staff while I am there,” she smiled.

“And I know better than attempting to stop you, Miss Fisher,” Jack grinned cheekily, getting to his feet as well. “I had rather head to the school myself and see if Lilah has anything to tell me about this dance with Steeger she failed to mention.”

The girl appeared a lot smarter than Mr. Tippoci, Jack pondered, and was therefore a likelier culprit. She also was an acquaintance of Jane's, which made this not a comfortable option.

“Don't forget your daughter's debut in all your detecting, Inspector,” Phryne quipped, already standing at the exit but turning with her hand on the handle to look at him.

“Certainly not, Miss Fisher,” he assured her while slipping past her through the conveniently open door. Phryne shook her head at his ungentleman-like behaviour. She found herself smiling all the same as she followed him outside, where their paths split.

Only fifteen minutes later she knocked at the McAster's door and was led into the library. The Master of the house sat curled up in a cloud of smoke. The pipe in his hand shook in silent laughter as he turned another page.

“An amusing tale?” Phryne asked. He flinched at the intruder and shot a brief look at the little, red-headed maid who shrugged and hurried away before she could get scolded.

“One has to find amusement wherever one can,” Mr. McAster said calmly, gesturing for his unannounced guest to sit. “But I assume you haven't come to discuss my reading material, Mrs. Robinson?”

He slammed the book shut with an audible bang, causing dust to fly up from the old novel.

“What has my daughter done this time? I'm terribly sorry if she has broken your expensive crystal, as it is no secret that I am not in the position to pay you a penny.”

The little, clever eyes glittered in humour behind his glasses while Phryne sank into a chair and crossed her legs.

“So I've heard,” she declared happily, disposing off her gloves. “And I have come to make you an offer.”

Mr. McAster leaned back in his chair, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Phryne looked up and grinned.


	34. Jitterbug

Wailing greeted her when she unlocked the door. Dottie pushed unto the house and glimpsed around the corner into the parlour before even setting down her grocery bag.

“He still hasn't let up then?” she asked with a tiny smile at her exhausted looking husband. Hugh shrugged helplessly, switching Tommy from one aching arm to the other.

“Do you believe we will ever sleep again?” he asked when his wife stepped up to them and tickled the cheek of her son, who wasn't disturbed in the slightest by her gesture.

“I doubt it,” she laughed, but stopped upon realising that he looked really upset.

“I am serious, Dottie, how can a single child scream this much?!”

Thomas whined louder at his father's exasperation. Dot laid a finger to her lips.

“Actually, I think I have got an idea.”

She brushed a kiss to the surprised Constable's cheek and left him standing in the middle of the room. Mere moments later a record scratchily started moving, dipping the room into soft music. Hugh watched his wife with big eyes that turned to the size of saucers when his son hiccuped and shoved a thumb into his mouth.

“He likes music,” he whispered with some awe.

“Mrs. Phryne said we should attempt that,” Dot explained cheerily, retrieving her shopping from the hall. “The Inspector even danced with him the other night to calm him.”

Hugh's brows knitted into an interesting pattern.

“Inspector Robinson?”

Dot couldn't help but laugh while she filled a bowl with fruit from the market. Her husband still struggled with the idea of his mentor dancing through the parlour with tiny Thomas.

“You might want to close your mouth, Hugh,” his wife smiled, taking their baby from him and settling down to feed him. “Apparently the Inspector is quite fond of dancing.”

Hugh sank beside her onto the sofa.

“Are you certain?” he asked after a long moment.

“Oh, my dear Hugh,” Dot grinned, more than happy that she had finally something new to tell her husband. “You really have been working too hard. You haven't noticed anything, have you?”

And while the soft waltz washed over the three of them, she told him everything he had missed between sleepless nights, nappies and murder.

X

The young woman let a suspicious eye trail down the street before slipping through the gate and hurrying along the pavement. Mrs. Robinson stepped out from her disguise behind a hedge and followed Charlotte with some distance. Today she even had remembered to not wear red. It was a helpful choice it turned out as the young woman stopped at a street corner and glanced over her shoulder. From where she was pressed against a house wall, Phryne could barely make out her features. Charly was too nervous for a harmless meeting and her flustered face betrayed a secret.

Phryne suddenly had a strong suspicion just what it may be. Chasing after the green coat with her blood rushing in her ears, the Lady Detective wondered if she should have shared this with Jack, but then it was too late now. And he would certainly not be mad if she presented him another slice of their mystery on a silver platter.

X

Lilah kneaded her fingers in her lap. The Inspector watched the pale, pretty girl motionlessly.

“Did you regularly dance with Mr. Steeger?”

She nodded, obviously unwilling to answer.

“Did anything else happen between you?” Jack asked gently. “Did he approach you?”

A pair of dark eyes were aimed at him in confusion, but the girl stayed quiet, chewing on her lip.

Jack was torn between feeling sorry for her and losing patience with her ongoing silence.

“Why don't you just tell me what happened, Miss Saenger?”

Watching her twirl a loose lock between her fingers, he was more and more tipping towards annoyance.

“Can you promise me that you will not tell my father?” she suddenly asked.

Jack stared at her inquisitively before answering.

“I am not in the habit of getting involved in family matters. My task is to find a murderer.”

Lilah nodded, causing the dark lock of hair to whip.

“I was not interested in _him,_ if that's what you are thinking. I was only intrigued by his dancing. There is magic in tango, you know, Inspector?”

Her eyes had turned dark and shiny on her last words and Jack gulped, finding himself nodding agreement before he could stop himself.

“I asked him for lessons and he agreed. He was paid from my allowance and I made him swear that he would keep it a secret.”

“But Gianni saw you?” the Inspector asked. The dark eyes adapted an angry glitter.

“The halfwit just has to have his nose in everything. He threatened to tell my parents!”

“But he didn't?” Jack asked. Lilah shook her head.

“I believe he was too busy chasing after Agnes.”

Jack nodded. He doubted that any of the students had an idea how much harder their silence made his life. He would have to talk to every single one of them again. God knew what else they may have forgotten to tell them?

“Can I go?” she asked, when he didn't seem inclined to ask any more questions. He nodded, deep in thought.

“Miss Saenger?” he called after her. Lilah turned, looking very pale and fragile in the bright light.

“Did anyone else know of your secret lessons?”

She scrunched up her eyes in thought for a moment.

“Only his wife.”

Jack nodded again, finally releasing her. After a moment of pondering he got up and marched outside where Madame Germain rushed past him, obviously on her way to see the students.

“Ah, Inspector. Have you brought your daughter?” she asked with a strained smile that he returned in much the same fashion.

“I'm afraid I am here for business,” he answered. “Would you be able to tell me where I'd find Mrs. Steeger?”

“She should be over in the Red Salon, readying herself for her lesson with the Sinclairs. But please excuse me, the Debutantes are waiting on me.”

With that she hurried off and the Inspector made his way in the opposite direction to the small dancing salon where he had first watched Phryne and Mr. Steeger tango. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

But just like then faint music filtered through the door and he opened it the slightest gap to look inside. Camila Steeger was currently turning on the spot in something between a stretch and a complicated dancing move. Jack couldn't help himself - even though he was fully aware that he was staring.

“Are you going to come in, Inspector?” she asked happily without ever having given away that she had noticed his presence. “There is a rather nasty draft coming through that door.”

She turned, shooting him a smile that almost succeeded in making him blush.

Jack closed the door hurriedly behind himself and was surprised when she stretched out a hand to him.

“Would you care for a dance?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find a reason to deny her, but couldn't think of anything.

“Oh, don't be shy?” she laughed when she noticed his hesitation and something sparked in the Inspector's soul. With three steps he stood in front of her, embracing her much in the way Riya had taught him. If Mrs. Steeger was surprised, she didn't show it. Instead her smile broadened.

“It seems to me you might have more experience with tango than I had given you credit for.”

“That is entirely possible,” Jack smiled while they started to move. He harbored no delusions as to being able to keep up with such an advanced dancer, yet, as their bodies flowed together, he couldn't help but feel proud. She read him wonderfully, reacted perfectly to the slightest of moves and his excitement grew with every step.

Deep in his heart the realisation hit that despite his progress he had always feared that he wouldn't be able to dance with anyone who wasn't as patient as Riya Santi. But here he was, twirling a terribly attractive dancer across the floor, feeling her muscles move, her heart beat.

The door slamming shut interrupted his thoughts and a cold chill ran down his spine when he sensed a pair of eyes resting in his back. He turned, fully convinced that he would look at Phryne's scowl. But instead another woman stood there watching them with interest and a traitorous smile. 

“Your wife on the telephone for you, Inspector,” Miss Green announced.

“Excuse me, please,” Jack said, letting go of his dancing partner before either of the women could notice how flustered he was. His heart was still racing when he arrived upstairs in the small office and picked up the phone where a whispering voice answered.

“Jack?! You took your time. Listen, I have to be very quick. I followed Miss McAster to the Windsor Hotel and take a guess who just went into her suite?”

“I believe guessing games aren't in order, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, struggling to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Spoilsport,” Phryne complained. “But I believe I kn-”

A resounding click ended her sentence.

“Phryne?”

There was no answer.

“Phryne?!”

Jack knew there was no point to his yelling, the line was dead. He flung the telephone back onto the receiver and raced down the stairs before his brain had caught up with the rest of his body, silently cursing his wife for getting herself into danger yet again. But mostly he felt cold, breathless fear take a hold of him, squeezing his heart in an iron grip. Later he wouldn't remember running outside or jumping in the car. He only awoke when he sped through the streets much beyond any speed limits, with screeching tyres and a silent prayer on his lips that once again Miss Fisher would fend off any attacker until he arrived to clap the culprit in iron.

His heart, threatening to jump out of his chest, voiced some doubts that she could be lucky every single time. Jack tried to shake off all thoughts and pushed the accelerator down further, flinging the police car around a corner at a dangerous speed. She'd just have to be! It was as simple as that.

X

For once completely oblivious to her parent's troubles, Jane sat in the corner watching Harry whisper with Lilah. His hand brushed her arm in a comforting gesture and the girl's eyes flew around seeking out Jane's. She cursed herself for staring at them and looked away quickly, turning her attention out the window into the bright day. A few dark clouds were forming on the blue sky. The weather was changing. But Jane couldn't have cared any less. She was still pondering just why a little touch would make her heart ache like this.

“Are you even listening?” Melody asked.

“Sorry, Mel, I was in thought.”

Her friend's tone of voice convinced her that she was upset with her lack of attention and Jane did feel sorry, but she couldn't be convinced to return her eyes to the room.

“About the murder?” she finally asked.

“Something like that...” Jane answered vaguely.

“Because Harry said that Lilah has seen-”

“I'll have to powder my nose,” Jane said quickly, jumping to her feet and rushing out the door. She was quite certain that Melody would be even more angry with her now, but she just couldn't listen to her going on and on about Lilah.

Huffing, she stormed down the hallway towards the Ladies' room.

“Ouch,” someone made, as she stumbled. A bright blue gaze was glued to her as Jane retreated and apologised for his sore foot.

“Are you all right?” Julian asked kindly. “You look a little flustered.”

“Fine,” Jane breathed, “I just need to...” she gestured towards the door she had been aiming for and left the young man standing, staring after her with a happy smile on his face, still clutching onto a note in his hands.

X

“Inspector Robinson,” Jack panted, slapping down his badge. “I am looking for a Miss McAster. Has she made a reservation?”

The elderly porter behind the counter looked at him, then slowly picked up the badge and squinted at it.

“Police, Sir?” he asked.

“Yes! Can you please tell me where I would find Miss McAster?!”

“One moment, Sir.”

The man started to slowly flick through the big pages of a book. Jack was more than tempted to just rip it from his hands and find the room himself. But the scrabbled notes in there seemed to not make much sense to anyone who wasn't working in a hotel.

“Can you speed this up please? It might be a matter of life and death!” he all but yelled, turning to look for any hints that could help him. But he didn't spot anything unusual in the people wandering through the hall.

“Certainly, Sir.”

The perfectly trimmed nail of a finger ran down the page with torturously slow speed.

“Please,” Jack heard himself beg, “what room?!”

“Ah, here we have it. Number 401, on the north end of the fourth floor. Would you like me call someone to to take you, Sir?” 

“Thank you,” Jack gasped, already running for the stairs. The idea of being at the mercy of any more very friendly and thorough hotel employers was horrifying. He skipped the lift in favour of storming up the steps. The Inspector wasn't quite certain if that made him any faster but the idea to stand still and wait while Phryne was in danger was suffocating.

He felt near a heart attack by the time he reached the fourth floor and raced over the patterned carpet. The hotel reminded him acutely of a murder victim they had found bled out in one of the rooms earlier in the year and the thought caused him to stop cold in front of the stained glass door with the number 401. But there was no time for the nightmares currently flitting through his brain.

To his surprise the painted wood swung open easily as soon as he pressed down the handle with one hand, while pulling his pistol with the other.

“Phryne?” he yelled, but received no answer. Crossing the small entry he stormed into the sitting room, which, apart from the flames roaring in the marble fireplace was decidedly empty. The dining room didn't fare any better, and Jack's attention was only briefly side tracked by a silver champagne cooler glimmering on the polished wooden table. Somebody had planned a rendezvous. And that person had probably been disturbed by a Lady Detective. Taking into account his own annoyance with interruptions, that wasn't a particularly comforting thought.

“Phryne?!”

Jack heard the desperation creep into his voice as he went on to rip open the next door. It led into a bedroom that seemed equally unoccupied, even though the sheets had been turned up. He was about to leave when he noticed the shoe lying on the carpet. Just a single, lonely shoe. He recognised it instantly.

Pressing the cold steel of his weapon against his chest as if to fight off all evil he might encounter, Jack entered. He held his breath as he edged forward, trying to fight back the panic threatening to swallow him up.

“Hello, Jack.”

He spun, suddenly feeling dizzy when he discovered who was standing behind him.


	35. Zamba

Complete silence invaded the bedroom as Jack stared at the woman leaning casually against the door frame. There was a dress clinging to her curves that she certainly hadn't donned when she had left the station for the McAster's house and a smile on her lips that told him the whole story at once. Jack had to run his tongue over his dry lips before he found a voice in his breathless chest.

“Is this your idea of a joke, Phryne?”

She seemed surprised.

“No joke, Jack. I just thought it time for an uninterrupted chat.”

He shook his head slowly, trying to come to terms with her cruelty.

“So you found it necessary to scare the life out of me?” he asked. “For a talk? You could have just asked!”

Phryne stared at him, considering to brush off his anger. But something about his dishevelled look, his missing hat and his flushed skin told her that he really had been scared to death for her. It touched her more than she allowed herself to admit.

“I intended to surprise you,” she finally explained. “And there was no doubt that you would come for the prospect of a murder.”

Jack dropped onto the edge of the bed, carefully lying down his pistol before rubbing both hands over his face while he tried to catch his breath.

“I might be tempted to come for yours right now,” he finally ground out. Phryne allowed herself a breath of relief. Humour was always a very good sign with Jack, even when it was morbid.

“The phone cutting out was not part of the plan, I should add,” she heard herself say. In fact she felt rather miffed that she hadn't even been able to tell him the whole fairytale she had concocted with Mac's help. None of her great plan was unfolding as hoped and all thanks to a flawed line.

“So you weren't deliberately trying to give me a heart attack? Consider me flattered,” Jack quipped bitterly, getting up. He couldn't lie about being relieved beyond measure that she was alive and well but there was also a sour taste on his tongue. He had once again been at the receiving end of her manipulations and had made a complete fool of himself. But when he attempted to brush past her, her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Where are you going, Jack?”

“I believe I deserve a drink after this ordeal,” he explained coldly.

His pulse jumped underneath her fingertips and Phryne stared at the angry curve of his mouth, unable to let go. After an eternal moment of glaring at each other, the Inspector pulled his arm free and stomped out into the living area where he did pour himself a glass of the waiting champagne and drained it in one big gulp.

Phryne leaned against the large table, playing with her own, empty coupe.

“Are you intending to leave some for me?” she asked sweetly when he still seemed unwilling to talk to her.

He didn't answer, instead emptying his glass a second time. Now she was really starting to get worried.

“You never take anything seriously,” Jack finally said in a tone of forced calmness.

“I disagree. In fact, I am taking this very seriously,” Phryne argued, stepping closer in an attempt to touch him. To her utter annoyance he flinched away from her hand.

“Does anything I say or do matter, Phryne?”

The real exasperation in his voice shocked her into silence. His dark eyes searched hers, trying to find an answer.

“Everything is just a game to you. And I am the pawn on your chessboard. The fool trying to dance and failing.”

Phryne said nothing. Her head was spinning with his accusations.

“Not a man, just a fool,” he repeated her words bitterly. Phryne gulped. Her own words from his lips sounded so much more cruel than they had in her head. But then he had cut her just as deeply.

“I may be more enthusiastic about your new found passion, had I not walked in on you wrapped around my friend like a mating cobra!”

The words had spilled out before she had had a chance to stop them. Jack looked up from where he had been mulling over his own darkness. Then he laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh that spiked Phryne's rage to new heights.

“I didn't think you to be capable of jealousy, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne couldn't believe her ears. She had no trouble remembering plenty of occasions when she had been seething at the sight of Jack being approached by another woman.

“That's a ridiculous thing to say!”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Jack grinned, grasping for the bottle and filling both their glasses this time. “I recall you inviting Rosie into our house.”

Phryne gasped for air. She could also vividly remember how she had almost lost her mind about that.

“You didn't bat an eyelid when I was accused of being responsible for Miss Novak's 'family way',” he added after a moment of thought, handing her a glass. She took it mechanically.

“Now that was just absurd.” she protested, but it went unheard.

“_And_ you also happily watched on as Adelheid kissed me.”

“There was barely a need to be jealous of-”

“There never is!” he said hotly, rendering her momentarily speechless. “I am absolutely consumed by loving you, Phryne! There is no room in my heart for another woman.”

The Inspector had grabbed her by the shoulder as if trying to emphasise his words. Now he retreated, realising that he had overstepped a line. In the following silence one could have heard a pin drop.

“And certainly not Riya,” he added quietly.

“I've never accused you of loving her,” Phryne said, her eyes searching his with complete concentration. “But you chose to share something with her that should be mine.”

It was Jack's turn to be speechless. He opened his mouth all the same but was silenced by her lifting her hand.

“I don't want you to learn tango in an effort to impress me.”

Jack took a step backwards, trying to hide how her words affected him. But his mouth was obviously not willing to save his dignity any longer.

“You, of course, prefer to be impressed by Mr. Riley. A very sober choice. He certainly is a better dancer than I'll ever be.” 

Phryne closed the gap with glittering eyes.

“Now, who's jealous?” she whispered angrily. The Inspector gulped while she moved in.

“How could I not?” he asked, his voice cracking. “You love playing with fire.”

Closer. He could feel her breath on his face, see himself reflected in her eyes.

“You are hot enough for me, Jack.”

The force of his attack possibly surprised the Inspector even more than his wife. His lips were searing on hers, his hands everywhere in an effort to make her his again.

And it was tempting to allow him to, Phryne thought while she eagerly battled his tongue and clutched at his back. But the part of her that was not busy with the sensation of every inch of Jack's body pressed against hers, remembered why she had lured him here.

Considering that she had decided to don this dress and order champagne, she had to admit that this also had certainly been part of the plan. But not just yet. She gently but firmly pushed him away, her heart almost breaking when she heard him make a noise sounding suspiciously close to a whimper.

“We need to talk,” she explained gently, attempting to catch her breath.

He didn't answer but there was something like a faint nod. He hesitated. Then his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her so tightly against him that she thought he might try and meld them together. The fire in his touch had softened into a search for her nearness and Phryne regretted that she'd have to break this before she had even uttered a word.

“There was the danger of a kiss,” she said beside his ear. Jack retreated.

“If you are trying to calm me, Miss Fisher, this is not the way,” he joked, but his eyes betrayed how hurt he was.

“I am attempting honesty, Jack. Considering how much trouble assumption has left us in.”

His jaw was still set, but he waited for her to continue.

“I _didn't_ kiss him,” she said, touching his cheek, finding to her relief that he allowed her to. “And I wouldn't.”

There was a pause.

“I know,” he finally murmured, placing his fingers over her soft hand. It was a slight surprise to Jack when he discovered that he truly had never doubted her.

“But I did enjoy the temptation,” Phryne added, holding her breath. His eyelids fluttered while he took that information in.

“I am also aware of that,” he finally answered, turning his head to kiss her palm. “And I appreciate that you didn't succumb.”

His eyes were soft and intense now and she couldn't help herself. Her other hand slipped behind his neck on it's own accord, pulling him in. Their lips met in a sensual, tender kiss and she felt his breath quicken. Phryne fully intended on surrendering into her longing this time when suddenly he backed away.

“No,” he panted.

“Jack?” she asked, more confused than anything else.

“There... are things in need to be discussed.”

He didn't seem able to follow through on his words at this stage. In fact his body language was so tense that she feared he might run. But Phryne allowed him to retreat to the opposite side of the table, where he stopped, apparently unsure how to proceed from there.

“Jack?” she tried again when she watched him squeeze his eyes shut.

“This dress was a very bad choice for conversation, Miss Fisher,” he finally explained, his voice rough with suppressed urges. His wife simpered, dividing the rest of the champagne between them.

“Would you care for another drink, Inspector?” she asked, setting a glass in front of him.

Despite feeling frustration tingle along her nerve endings at the need to postpone what she longed for, she couldn't help but feel sorry for Jack. One of his hands was currently wrapping itself around the back of a chair, apparently in an effort of keeping himself from jumping over the table.

In fact Jack could scarcely bring himself to hold onto a rest of sanity. It wasn't just the dress, even though it was a lovely piece. He had been scared out of his mind racing over here and that on top of the weeks strain took it's toll. The need to feel her was so strong that he thought he'd go mad if he didn't succumb soon, yet he knew that there were still plenty of things to be expressed. Things that might get lost again if he allowed himself to get distracted.

He picked up his glass, taking a big gulp to wet his dry throat. And then something happened that he had never anticipated.

“I _am_ sorry,” Phryne said, causing his eyes to snap open. “I hadn't thought through the implication of luring you here. Or my words the other night, for that matter.”

He didn't answer straight away, obviously needing to take this in.

“I believe this is the first time I have ever heard you admit to being at fault.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'd rather you not get used to it.”

The Inspector couldn't help but smile.

“Merely cherishing the moment, Miss Fisher.”

He drained his glass, trying to sort his thoughts. There were words on his tongue that had been waiting to be spoken for days, but now he struggled to bring them into a sensible order.

“I hope you know that I've never meant to betray you.” He paused. “I may not be a born dancer, but I do wish to be a husband you can show yourself with.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a raised eyebrow.

“It was a flight of fancy and I apologise if I hurt you with my secrecy.”

Phryne didn't say a word but rounded the table and extracted the empty glass from his hands.

“I think it is safe to say that we both took plenty of missteps.”

She cocked her head with a smile and it suddenly dawned on Jack that he was forgiven. And that the angry ball in his stomach had dissolved along with their argument. It was a strange sensation. He raised his hand, carefully watching her as he ran his fingers through her hair, cupped her cheek. But she didn't protest, didn't retreat. There was not a flicker of anger in her face when his gentle, rough thumb trailed over her lower lip, instead Phryne's eyes fluttered shut when he moved in.

The kiss was sweet this time, the desperation gone.

Phryne's hands snuck underneath Jack's waistcoat where his warmth bled through his shirt. It felt like coming home and she pressed herself closer against him, trying to absorb as much of his heat as possible. Jack also seemed completely unwilling to let go of her. He appeared to be in no hurry to relieve her of the stunning gown, instead caressing her back through the thin fabric, holding her so closely to his chest that one could have harboured the suspicion his life depended on it. 

“Phryne.”

Her name was whispered like a prayer and her stomach flipped at the raw emotion it held.

“I love you,” she murmured barely audible while her lips brushed over his neck. His only answer were his arms tightening further around her as a groan rendered him unable to speak. Truly there was no need for a reply. There was love in every stroke of his fingertips, every touch of his lips, every muscle of the body moulded against hers. And it seemed suddenly completely absurd to Phryne that she could have considered being with somebody else, may it be ever so fleetingly.

Another soft moan vibrated against her mouth as her fingers finally found their way underneath his shirt, stroking his heated skin in idle circles. The small sound thrilled her and she yearned for more, yet Jack's embrace left her immobile and the very idea of releasing him long enough to pull him into the nearby bedroom was rendered impossible by the essential need to hold him.

Drowning in his mouth, she found herself completely incapable of solving this particular riddle and simply surrendered. If they ended up making love on the floorboards, what did it matter? Instead, however, they tumbled against something soft and Jack stumbled backwards into an armchair, pulling his wife with him. He paused for a moment in surprise, but then she dipped her head, bringing her lips to his and all confusion melted away in the sensation tingling along every nerve ending of his body. Phryne's fingers weaved into Jack's hair as she straddled his lap, trailed her lips over his heated features, pressing kisses to his eyelids, his brows, licking a drop of sweet sweat from them. His hands had halted in their exploration, now lying strong and heavy in her back, holding onto her. When she retreated his lashes fluttered open, his dark eyes gleaming in arousal and love and an intensity that took her breath away.

With trembling fingers she started to unbutton his clothes. Jack didn't utter a word, just let her have her way, occasionally moving to help her undress them. And the whole time his eyes wouldn't leave her for a moment. Finally there were no more layers, just warm skin and it was as close to heaven as she would ever get, Phryne thought just before he caught her head in a kiss, their whole bodies now wrapped up in their embrace. Jack slipped inside her effortlessly, stilling. The sensation was overwhelming, racing along his spine, leaving him speech- and motionless. He wasn't chasing any climax as he pulled her warm breasts against himself, wrapped his arms around her white back, buried his face in the crook of her neck. In fact, Jack would have been perfectly happy to never move again in his life, just drown in her warmth and smell and touch without any need to ever resurface. But after a long moment of perfect silence he felt her begin to tenderly move on his lap, her fingertips tracing over his back, caressing one of his many scars. She always found his scars, both on his body and soul and it never ceased to astonish him with what ardour she embraced those flaws and bumps. It was a strange sensation to be loved like this and briefly he had forgotten it's meaning. 

Jack looked up to find her watching him, her eyes large and dark, noticed that he had joined into her rhythm, their bodies now moving in a steady ebb and flow, tightly entwined in an entanglement that went much deeper than their sweaty limbs. And in that moment, as he pulled her closer than ever, clasped her against himself in an effort to become a part of her, he made a vow to himself that he would never forget again.


	36. Pasodoble

She smiled thinly as she inspected his dozing form sprawled across the sheets. He was so beautiful when sleeping. 

She pulled a small bottle from her skirt pocket and took another look at the fluid. It looked so harmless. Harmless and deadly. Just like the berries.

On tiptoes she wandered over to the bed, gently slipping down beside him, listened to his even breathing.

“It's all right, my love. It won't hurt one bit, I promise.”

She leaned in to brush a kiss to the slight sandpaper of his cheek. He didn't stir.

X

His hands were cold; cold and clammy and annoying. Jane breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally allowed to leave Harry's embrace and the dance floor. They hadn't spoken a word since they've started waltzing and Jane really felt no need to talk to him. Neither did he obviously as he fled in the opposite direction and was now laughing with Louis about something or other. His eyes were still glued to her though and she felt increasingly irritated by it.

Jane looked for her friend for help, but Mel was huddled up in the opposite corner with Penny and Lilah and it stung doubly that her friend was still pouting at her.

Glancing at Madame Germain and Miss Green, who  were  heatedly  d iscussing something near the door, she made a bold decision. She was going to go home. Go home and have a cup of cocoa in Mr. Butler's kitchen, watch him prepare tea and forget her stupid idea of a debut. She didn't belong here anyway!

Mel's happy giggling followed her outside into the hall and down the stairs. Jane lifted her chin and kept walking. She had almost reached at the exit when she realised that she had left her coat behind. The words lying on her tongue certainly weren't suitable for a young lady as she  spun on her heels and ran back up the stairs. 

Only dusty silence filled the hall down here. Jane crossed the sitting room to where she suspected Miss Green hung their coats when something lying on the table caught her eye. She picked up the little booklet with some astonishment. Victoria had taken ill during the morning, much to the annoyance of her employer and had to be sent home. But she had to be quite sick to leave her beloved poems behind, Jane pondered. She opened the front, and found what she had hoped for: an address. Jane changed her mind yet again. Maybe her energy was used much better in a bedside visit than dancing. 

X

Phryne moved her leg without lifting her head from Jack's chest. His heart was still beating a steady rhythm into her ear that she was unwilling to tear herself away from. They had made it as far as the sofa, the bed next door still untouched. It was a bit of a shame really.

She shifted into a more comfortable position, wondering if he had fallen asleep. His breath was as relaxed as it hadn't been in days. Just then Jack stirred, his fingertips slowly drawing a line over her naked back.

“I enjoy it,” he said, without any build up. Phryne, with some effort, brought her face around to look at him.

“I was rather hoping so,” she smiled, receiving a lazy grin in return.

“Tango,” he explained. “I find it hard to give up.”

It was subtle, the way his fingers clenched, his breath hitched. He was worried about his confession and Phryne snuggled back into his chest, trailing an idle finger through the small curls of hair.

“Why would you want to?” she asked.

There was no answer. It occurred to Phryne that she hadn't exactly encouraged his new love for dancing.

“I would have been most happy to teach you,” she admitted after a long pause.

She felt him drawing a deep breath and added before he had a chance to say anything: “I am not interested in more apologies, Jack. I want to understand.”

When she lifted her head she just barely spotted the shadow crossing his features. But he was still silent and her patience was wearing thin by the time he finally found his tongue.

“I was attempting to surprise you, Miss Fisher.”

A slim smile accompanied his statement.

“Of course, I should have taken into account that you are a detective.”

Phryne didn't tear her eyes from him. She suffered the distinct feeling that there was more to it than that.

“And that you don't wish to be impressed,” he added as if he had sensed her waiting. It weren't bitter words as such, but there was a feel of capitulation to them. She buried a rather sharp elbow into his chest in an effort to lift her torso from his and he repaid her with a pained groan which she completely ignored.

“Your misapprehension of my meaning is turning into a nasty habit, Inspector,” she scolded. He didn't say anything, just idly played with one of her locks. Phryne decided to wait. Once Jack left his comfort zone of biting sarcasm and humorous banter, it was much harder to draw words from him. Yet this felt like something he needed to get off his chest. When he did finally speak his mind, her breath hitched in her throat.

“I am attempting to be the husband you deserve,” he said quietly. “Which is not an easy task.”

The last was uttered with a small smile that was belied by his eyes. Phryne stared at him, all humour gone.

“You can't be serious!”

He shrugged, still fiddling with her hair and Phryne brushed the strand behind her ear just to stop him from being silly.

“You enjoy parties and dancing and a house full of people. I am trying to embrace it. Surely you can't fault me for that?” he asked.

She gasped for air, battling down another spell of rage coming on.

“I do not fault you for trying to be a bit less of a spoilsport, Jack. I fault you for going out of your way in an attempt to please me.”

“And since when is me pleasing you an issue?” he asked, an eyebrow playfully raised.

“Since you ran off and studied tango moves with poor Riya, so you could impress me, Jack. If you decide to be utterly reckless for once, I'd rather you take _my_ hand and step on _my_ toes!”

He stared at her speechlessly for a long moment.

“You might live to regret that wish,” he finally quipped. Phryne felt her anger dissolve at his disarming grin and grumbled quietly, settling back down.

“Dancing is all about enjoying life, Jack. There is no point in doing it unless you love it. And certainly not to humour me.”

The Inspector stayed quiet at this and Phryne started to wonder if she had gotten it wrong.

“I may have been curious,” he finally admitted. A grin spread over Phryne's features that was invisible from his perspective. “And I was completely enthralled by watching you,” Jack added close to inaudible.

“So you made a point in encouraging me to dance with Julian rather than you?” she asked, sounding sleepy. She could hear Jack clearing his throat, trying to shake off a spell of annoyance.

“I consider that another one of my missteps, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne hummed approval into his neck. For some time they lay in companionable silence. Just when Mrs. Robinson pondered whether to challenge her husband to try the bed after all, she felt him shift.

“Were you following me the other day?” he asked. 

Phryne's eyes snapped open. She was suddenly rather glad that he couldn't see her face.

“Why would I do that, Jack?” she returned with fake cheer. She could feel his glance and wished she could disappear. 

“Well, considering that you support Jane's interest in Mr. Taylor, there was little reason to observe her doings,” he pointed out. “And I certainly don't believe that you went for an idle walk, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne pondered if pretending to not have heard him might be a better choice than admitting to her petty spying.

“I may have lost my head a tiny bit when I realised that you lied to Hugh...” 

Phryne couldn't bring herself to admit the full amount of unfounded fears that had haunted her mind after stumbling over his secrecy, but she suspected that Jack could guess well enough. To her surprise and relief she felt his chest rumble in almost silent laughter and his arm pulling her closer. Jack couldn't help but be quietly pleased that he hadn't been the only one making a fool of himself, but chose not to express this thought. She had already said a lot more than he had ever expected and he wasn't going to push his luck.

In truth he had never apprehended a 'sorry' to leave her lips. Miss Fisher was a woman who lived unapologetically – in every sense of the word. To someone who had spent most of his life haunted by guilt that was a rather fascinating ability. Being at fault was simply not something that happened in her world and if the evidence should be undeniable... well, she decided not to dwell on it. Coming from anyone else her words of apology might have seemed nonchalant, yet Jack knew better. For Phryne to openly express regret it took a lot more than the simple conclusion that she had made a mistake.

She moved, reminding him that they were still lying on a hotel sofa in a state of complete undress – and that his body had had a fair bit of time to remember how much he desired the woman who was wrapped around him. His wife, however, seemed completely oblivious to the telltale signs in which he announced his wishes.

“Would you care to know what I discovered during a much less embarrassing effort to tail Charlotte McAster?” she asked, rubbing her chin over his nipple.

“And there I thought that your visit at their house was just a blind to lure me here,” Jack smiled.

“What do you take me for, Inspector?” she asked, her knee brushing up the inside of his thigh. He swallowed down a groan. 

“A very resourceful woman, Miss Fisher.”

Jack attempted his hardest to ignore her teasing in favour of taking in the information \- a resolve that was challenged very much by her fingernails trailing past his navel. 

“I did of course head to the McAster's house and I watched Charlotte leave. So I followed her and you might be rather surprised by where she was headed.”

“Where?” Jack asked in a strangled voice.

“She went to Mrs. Lorchester's house.”

Jack forgot for a moment to pay attention to her teasing fingers.

“Mrs. Collins's midwife?”

Phryne grinned.

“I was hoping you would remember that.”

Jack released a shuddering breath, half owed to her ministrations, half to his surprise.

“I assume the father is Mr. Riley?” he asked. “Would he know?”

Phryne frowned without stopping in her movements.

“I doubt it very much.”

A loud moan answered her.

“I imagine you have already paid some thought on making Charlotte a more suitable match for your dancing partner?” Jack asked as soon as he could find words again. His wife smirked at his breathless voice, rejoicing in how he was squirming underneath her. Yet, he wouldn't give up talking their case. His stubbornness was as infuriating as it was exciting. 

“I may have made some arrangements,” she smiled enigmatically and earned herself another raise of Jack's eyebrows. 

“Do you remember our conversation about Eddie the other week?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Jack, you had a point. He has been most helpful rebuilding 'Gabler's', but he is not a business man. So I have decided he could profit from some expertise by his side.”

“An expert who just crash-landed his own business?” Jack asked, grinning, his fingers going on a wander of their own. Phryne gasped.

“Of course, I took that into account,” she ground out breathlessly. “Goldner had a thorough look into...”

Jack would never find out what their financial advisor had had a look at, but he could guess well enough. Phryne never did business with half her brain or charity with half her heart. And while running 'Gabler's' was certainly not as prestigious as the Riley's family would want for the marriage of their eldest son, it would give the McAsters some much needed stability and Charlotte a fighting chance at becoming her lover's wife.

Those thoughts, however, flitted only through the back of Jack's mind while most of him was completely absorbed in the feel and taste and sound of Phryne as she writhed in his arms. Her moans grew louder, exciting him beyond measure and when her fingers tightened around him in the throes of ecstasy he feared he might leave stains on the light fabric of the sofa. He held on by the skin of his teeth and concentrated on not allowing her to tumble to the floor.

With some effort he managed to crawl out from underneath her, framing her with his shaky arms and giving himself a perfect view of her hooded eyes and her vulnerable neck where the blood pulsed against the porcelain skin. He leaned down to trail his lips along the curve, tearing a moan of approval from her. Her beautiful breasts were flushed with arousal and Jack didn't think he could take much more, straining against her thigh as he attempted to bring her to climax with his hand and sheer willpower.

“Jack?”

The single word uttered somewhere between a whisper and a moan was almost his undoing. Her intentions were obvious and he abandoned all attempts on satisfying her before taking his own share. Phryne's didn't leave him any choice as it was, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him into her incredible warmth with no further ado. The Inspector's back was glistening with sweat, his muscles trembling in tautness as he moved over her, attempting to not lose his mind.

Phryne opened her eyes to watch her husband, so absorbed in his passion that nobody but her could have recognised the proper Inspector Robinson. For a brief moment it occurred to her to wonder whether he danced like this, in utter abandon and ardour. The idea led to her bucking up her hips against him, meeting him halfway as she clutched at the armrest of the sofa. She could feel the explosion build up in her depths, Jack's breath picking up. It was too soon!

She pulled herself up to wrap an arm around him, kissed his neck. His groan seemed to echo and ripple through her stomach, his warm hand held her, moulding her sweaty chest against his as they sped up their rhythm for the finale.

She felt him shudder, his eyes squeezing shut. The sound of Jack reaching his climax was the last straw. Phryne's back arched as she tumbled, fell, her head thrown back, her fingers digging themselves into the soft fabric.

When the waves subsided and her eyes fluttered open she found Jack smiling at her with absolute love, causing her heart to take a tumble in her chest. At the edge of her conscience it occurred to her that the weather had changed with rain drumming against the window. It didn't matter.

Jack's tender hand came to stroke her cheek and Phryne was about to stretch up for a kiss when her attention was caught by the watch on his wrist. The curse escaping her throat was far from romantic. The Inspector couldn't hide his shock about her sudden mood change.

“Jane,” Phryne gasped, scrambling out from underneath her husband. “She should be getting ready for her presentation right now.”

Jack was on his feet even before her, already retrieving a stocking from underneath the dining table and fishing his tie from where it was still hanging over the armchair. They got dressed in hurried silence, the Inspector only pausing briefly to open the door for Phryne while she hopped across the room in an attempt to pull her second shoe on. When he tried to follow her into the hall, however, she grasped his shoulder, holding him back. Her fingers combed through his hair, bringing it back into some sort of form, then wiped away a lipstick stain on his cheek before she released him back into the world. Jack pulled the door shut with a tiny sensation of regret. He had always wondered about the beds in the Windsor.


	37. Dragon Dance

Jane watched little rivers pour down the outside of the window in an ever changing pattern. Her mood had improved in the duration of her trip to the north. It was a long journey to Vicky's home - she didn't mind.

It was strangely cosy inside the tram, looking out into the rain and also: she had nothing better to do any more. Jane certainly wasn't going to go to that stupid presentation. Let alone the ball!

It had occurred to her at some point that Victoria Adams might not be in the mood for company since she wasn't feeling well, but she had shaken the thought off. The quiet piano-player must be lonely at times. She never appeared to not be working, always a quiet presence in the dancing school that nobody seemed to pay much mind to. No wonder she dreamed of being a poet. Famous. Cherished. Loved.

In her time in the orphanage and in Mr. Merton's house Jane's had dreams as well, of a better life – or maybe just of a clean place to sleep and someone who would hug her instead of yell. Of her mother suddenly coming to her senses and picking her up or an unknown father showing at the doorstep and hitting the “Great Hypno” on the nose with a good right hook. 

She had never even dared fantasize about riches, about a good school and getting a huge book collection in her grasp and a girl like Melody wanting to be her friend. Maybe she wasn't born to live a life like that.

Vicky would understand why she didn't want to wear the silly white dress and curtsy to a stuck up old man. She hadn't been born with a golden spoon in her mouth either. While Jane had only gotten a glimpse at the poems the other day, it was easy to sense their meaning. They were wrapped about shattered dreams and broken hopes and a cold world. Mel would never understand those things.

The small booklet was lying heavy and warm on Jane's lap and she ran her fingertips over the paper before gently flicking it open. 

It felt a little forbidden, but here in the rain the words were comforting. Against her better judgement she read. The rain drummed on when she flicked to the next page and the next before finally stopping cold. Jane slowly shook her head in disbelief. She hadn't had the slightest inkling.

“Right sleuths we are,” she grumbled to herself.

She was still deep in thought when she finally arrived at her destination. The cottage was situated in a backstreet only a few yards from the tram stop, yet Jane was uncomfortably wet by the time she reached the white door. The paint was peeling off she couldn't help but notice as she knocked.

Nobody answered. Maybe Vicky was too ill, Jane wondered, now worried. She had seen the girl briefly, pale as the wall and shivering when she'd left.

In sudden resolve she took the two metres to the near window, glancing inside. Vicky was sitting at the kitchen table, far from her bed and completely lost in her own world. Jane banged against the glass in an effort to get her attention. Victoria appeared somewhat shocked as she spotted her drenched guest, but hurried to the door a mere moment later. She still looked like death warmed over, Jane couldn't help noticing when she pushed past her into the tiny house. By now she really longed to get out of the rain.

“Jane?” Vicky asked, her voice a little higher pitched than usually. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I'd pay you a visit and enquire after your health,” Jane smiled thinly, deciding against revealing why she'd truly come. Her host didn't look particularly thrilled at seeing her.“I also found this.”

Victoria looked for a long moment at the book while Jane expected her to get anxious as she had the last time.

“Thank you,” she finally said calmly. Jane sneezed.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Victoria asked. “You look drenched.”

Jane nodded, despite the sinking feeling that she might have made the wrong decision. She wasn't certain if Vicky enjoyed her company. But then it would be rude to leave now – aside from very wet. So she shed her coat and hung it over the back of a chair while her hostess put the kettle on the stove. 

“Are you feeling better?” she asked into the thick, suffocating silence.

“Pardon me?”

Vicky turned just when lightning dipped the small kitchen into blinding light. She was still pale, with deep shadows underneath her eyes, and the brief flash of brightness caused Jane's stomach to leap. The friendly girl looked like a ghost. A strange feeling of anxiety crept underneath her skin and she really wished she hadn't come now. But the rumble of the thunder deafening her a second later demolished any thoughts of hurrying out back into the storm. Instead she forced herself to smile.

“You went home sick this morning, didn't you?” she asked.

“Oh yes, of course,” Victoria shrugged. “I was just a bit under the weather. The thunderstorm in my bones, my grandmother would have said.”

With those words she sat down a tin of biscuit and Jane felt her fears dissolve. She was just being ridiculous. There was nothing here to worry about, she told herself as she stirred sugar into her tea. The rain drumming against the small window called her silly for ever thinking there was.

X

Jack still had a spring in his step when he pushed open the door leading into the station. Constable Jones looked up from his paperwork and watched his superior peel himself out of the drenched coat with a tiny grin glued to his face. The officer opened his mouth to say something, but his words drowned in a clap of thunder.

“What was that, Jones?” the Inspector yelled over the noisy outburst of nature.

“I said, there is a Mr. Wilt in your office, Sir.”

Jack frowned.

“Did he say why?”

“He was going to speak only to you, Sir.”

Jack nodded, throwing the coat over his arm and stepping through the white door to where the man was sat. The old Pharmacist seemed to have been waiting for some time. He was completely dry.

The Inspector hung up his wet clothes before shutting the door.

“Mr. Wilt. What brings you here?”

The small man straightened up, fiddling with his spectacles.

“Inspector, someone has broken into my shop this morning.”

Jack pulled a grim face while he sat down.

“Was anything stolen?”

“That's the thing, Inspector. The thief took a strong tincture of Atropa Belladonna. It's used as a narcotic usually but if it's overdosed...”

The Inspector started, his mouth going dry.

“Poison?”

“Of course,” the Pharmacist nodded. “But that's not all.”

Jack tried to brace himself for what was to come.

“My syringes have been rifled through as well as the sleeping powders and-.”

The Inspector was already on his feet. Just then the door flew open.

“Jack!”

The change in her voice was subtle but it was enough. Jack's heart sank. He knew that something had happened before he spotted two adolescents huddled behind Phryne in the doorway.

“Jane has disappeared from the dancing school.”

He looked back at Mr. Wilt, a thousand thoughts spinning through his mind when he heard the younger Miss McAster add: “And Mr. Riley also left in the middle of our lesson. Madame was furious.”

Jack stared at Phryne, who shrugged helplessly.

“Did Jane ever say anything to you about Mr. Riley?” he asked Melody rather harshly.

The girl shook her head.

“She is quite taken with him,” Harry chipped in from the back. Jack measured the boy carefully, thinking about how defensive Jane had gotten over her attraction the other night. “She couldn't stop talking about him,” the boy added with his jaw set. Jack measured him carefully. Jealousy. Interesting. 

“That's not even true,” Melody protested. “She wanted him to marry Charly!”

Phryne's and Jack's eyes met over the children's heads. The combination of Riley and Jane seemed more than strange, all things considered. But they couldn't ignore two people disappearing at the same time.

Jack turned, ramming his wet hat back onto his head but found his arm being grasped in a firm grip. He looked up. His own fear was reflected in Phryne's eyes.

“Let's talk in private,” she whispered. He nodded, following her into the small interview room without paying any more mind to the other three people in his office.

“What's your plan?” Phryne asked after he'd closed the door behind them.

“Head to Riley's house and speak to his staff. He can't have disappeared into thin air.”

Phryne nodded.

“I will go talk to Miss MacAster, she should know all his secret hiding spots,” she decided. That made plenty of sense and the Inspector was about to finally start the urgent search for their daughter when he heard her ask: “Do you really believe that he is with Jane?”

“You should be a better judge of that than me,” her husband ground out after a split second of thought. “I rather thought she was infatuated with young Mr. Taylor.”

“They had a disagreement,” Phryne explained what the adolescents had confessed to her when she'd arrived home. “The children have been searching for the killer as well. Apparently Jane wanted to quit.”

A cold shiver ran down Jack's spine that he tried to ignore as best as he could. He had asked Jane to stay away from sleuthing in the past night, but the advice might have come too late. If Julian Riley was in fact Steeger's murderer and she had figured it out she could be in great danger. Phryne was thinking exactly the same, he could tell. Her faith in her dancing partner was fading quickly, but there was not triumph in this conclusion.

“We'll find her,” Jack promised, “and if Riley touched a single hair on her head, I'll forget myself.”

Phryne didn't get to answer as there was a loud knock at the door. Rather annoyed both Detectives turned. Mr. Wilt looked suitably anxious when he pushed his head through the gap.

“Inspector, I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but considering what has transpired I believe you need to urgently know what else has been stolen.”

X

The storm had turned into a lazy drizzle and the thin porcelain cup that didn't quite seem to fit the rustic kitchen, completely empty. It was time to leave.

Jane found resistance against that thought in every bone of her body. She felt lazy and all about compelled to lay her head onto the polished wood of the kitchen table and have a nap. Astounding, how everything in this place was polished and clean, she mused. By now she knew that Victoria lived here all alone. The other girl had been pretty chatty once she had gotten over her first surprise. Jane hadn't told her about her problems with Melody and Harry and stupid Lilah. They seemed not significant really. And as in unspoken agreement, Vicky hadn't asked, even though she'd have to know that tonight was the ball. 

Jane's presentation was planned in less than two hours. Her stomach twisted at the thought of explaining her withdrawal to her parents. She couldn't help but wonder if they would be disappointed with her indecisiveness.

Jane was too smart a girl to not have sensed they're disagreement with the whole idea of her coming-out. Jack's smile had been strained and Phryne's questions a little too concerned to just be showing interest. Considering this, their support had surprised her somewhat. To change her mind in the last minute felt like letting them down.

So, she admitted to herself, half of why she didn't want to get up was grounded in having to go home and explain to them that she would rather not be a young lady. She sighed to herself.

“I had better get going. Thank you for the tea.”

Victoria smiled.

“It was nice of you to come.”

Jane rose, realising that her bladder was complaining loudly.

“Would you mind if I went to..?” she made a vague gesture. Vicky understood.

“It's outside,” she explained calmly as if she expected the other girl to be surprised by the possibility of finding a toilet in the back yard. It occurred to Jane that Vicky didn't know anything about her at all.

She found herself sneaking across the gloomy yard, wet grass brushing over her ankles. She hurried with her business and was back in the house a minute later. On her way through the small hall, she noticed a door that was slightly ajar and her eyes naturally turned to the opening as her steps went past it. She spotted the frilly edges of a duvet. Then the glimpse of a hand hanging still from the edge of a bed caused her to stop cold. Before she knew what she was doing Jane had grasped for the handle and ripped open the door. The man didn't move, but there was no question to who it was. Kneeling down beside him she felt for his pulse.

“Mr. Riley!”

“He's all right,” a voice said behind her. Jane turned to find Vicky stand behind her, smiling faintly. “He's only sleeping.”

Jane still tried to find any signs of a heartbeat, swallowing down any question on why Julian Riley would be sleeping in Victoria's bed of all places.

“But he isn't moving,” she stated, close to panic.

Victoria's smile broadened.

“I mixed a sleeping powder into his tea.“

Jane stared at her with her mouth hanging open.

“But...why?”

Vicky sank onto the bed beside the young man and gently stroked his cheek.

“Because she broke his heart; there's no pain like a broken heart.” 

The girl's eyes went far into the distance with a look that made Jane want to run from her house. She considered to get up, but in her current position she seemed trapped between Victoria and her night stand. The questions in her head kept nagging. But Vicky's hollow eyes taught her better than ask them. 

Jane shivered. And then she made a mistake. One that was even bigger than coming here.

“You are sweet on him.”

Vicky smiled thinly.

“You read my poems. But you are clever, Jane. You must have known before that.”

Jane didn't answer. The truth was she hadn't had the slightest idea until this afternoon and she felt utterly stupid. But a part of her pointed out carefully that it might not be the wisest choice to admit that.

“You know, but you don't understand,” Vicky continued. 

The smile had vanished, she looked like she was about to burst into tears and Jane stretched out her fingers to stroke her hands. Her sober mind told her clearly that the girl was still insane.

“The jam. It was you, wasn't it?” she asked.

A miserable nod was the only answer she got for a long time.

“I didn't mean to,” Vicky said, her voice breaking. “I thought... I heard Mr. Wilt talking with his friend about this plant and how it's making people go insane.”

“So you gave it to Mr. Steeger?”

Vicky shook her head.

“He wasn't meant to eat it! _She_ was supposed to! She wanted the jam from Miss Green. Why did she let_ him_ eat it?”

“I don't understand?” Jane heared herself ask, realising that with her prodding this situation spun further out of control. Yet, she couldn't stop herself, she needed to know why she was kneeling on the floorboards in front of this crazy girl. To her surprised Victoria turned to Julian, gently stroked his cheek.

“I found the letter she wrote.”

“But you got it all wrong!” Jane exclaimed. “The letter was from Charly!”

“How was I supposed to know that?! She just signed '_C_'! Who just signs a letter with an initial? And then she just throws his love away as if it means nothing...”

Jane listened to the girl's crazy rambling with her head spinning. An accident! Nothing but a silly accident born out of jealousy.

“You killed him!” she heard herself say. It wasn't the best of choices, Jane realised - but then she had made a number of bad decisions lately. Vicky had lost her breath and was staring at her out of huge eyes filled with tears.   
“I did,” she said tonelessly as if it occurred to her for the first time. But then the dark shadows of a number of sleepless nights convinced Jane that that wasn't the case at all. In fact Victoria's hysteria about Steeger's death suddenly appeared in a very different light.

“We need to talk to my parents. They'll know what to do.”

Jane finally scrambled to her feet, rushing to the door but found it locked.

“We can't,” Victoria said calmly.

She seemed to have found her composure again but that didn't scare Jane any less. She wrapped her hand around the door handle, jerking on it, but it wouldn't budge.

“Vicky, give me the key! Please,” she begged.

Jane didn't receive any answer as the other girl had returned to trailing her fingers over Julian's arm. Jane used the distraction to feverishly search the room for an alternate escape route. The window didn't look like it would open. Maybe she could just bash it in or...?

She fished a hair pin from the back of her head, glancing at the two people on the bed. At least Julian Riley was obviously breathing now; his sleeping potion might be wearing off. But God knew what Vicky's plan was when he woke up and Jane didn't dare even imagine the possibilites. Taking a deep breath she turned, staring at the brass key hole. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

“Do you believe in Heaven, Jane?”

She spun, just in time before Vicky turned her head. If she hadn't been so scared, Jane would have felt sympathy with the girl sitting on the edge of her bed, looking lost in the world. But the adrenaline rushing through her veins drowned out any coherent thought.

“I... I don't know,” she finally answered honestly, attempting to hide the pin behind her back, her hand bashing painfully against the wood. Thankfully the other girl didn't seem particularly observant.

“Well, I guess we will know very soon,” Vicky smiled vaguely. 

Jane almost choked on the question burning on her tongue. She watched as Victoria pulled a small vial from her pocket, then opened the drawer and ceremoniously laid something else onto her nightstand. Jane's breath hitched in her throat when she discovered the old service revolver glimmering in the grey afternoon light.


	38. Morenada

Madame Germain looked up from her paperwork when her office door was flung shut behind a very angry Inspector Robinson.

“Good afternoon, Inspector,” she said calmly, despite the rage steaming from the man.

“Where is my daughter?” he asked.

“I honestly have no idea.”

“She was in your school when she disappeared, along with your associate,” Jack spat. Madame Claudine leaned back in her chair, locking her arms over her chest.

“I very much believed you to be the Detective in this room.”

The Inspector's expression betrayed that he was currently reconsidering his nonchalant approach to her possession of stolen artwork. But mostly he was scared. His brief stop by the Riley's house had led to no results whatsoever and he was back to the start - which wasn't any comfort at all. He could only pray that Phryne was more successful.

His hope was disappointed a moment later when the door was flung open again and his wife stormed in. She didn't stop to express her surprise at seeing him.

“Where are Jane and Julian?” she asked. Madame Claudine sighed theatrically, giving in.

“Mia,” she called, Miss Green appearing a split second later as if she had been waiting behind the door. “Would you be so kind as to show the Inspector and his wife the note that Julian left? And answer any other questions they might have.”

She was obviously through with the subject and luckily both Robinsons felt they didn't have the time to give her a lecture on how to appropriately treat the disappearance of their daughter. Instead they followed Miss Green out into the hall where Charlotte was waiting beside her sister and young Mr. Taylor. Jack glanced at Phryne in a way that expressed his feelings on the unwanted company without any words.

“She insisted on coming,” she whispered. “And we might need all the help we can get.”

“So far they haven't been much help though,” Jack hissed, fully aware that he was being unfair.

After a short walk down the stairs they arrived in a small, windowless changing room. Miss Green picked up a piece of paper and handed it to the Inspector.

“He left without any explanation, just this note.”

Jack nodded as his eyes flew over the few words before he felt Phryne plucking it from his hands.

“_I apologize for letting you down, but the most charming of creatures has called for me and I simply cannot resist.” _

The Inspector squared his shoulders, burying his hands in his pockets to hide that they had been balling into fists.

“He had better not be talking about Jane!”

Phryne shook her head. “He means Charlotte.”

She turned to the young woman who stood right beside her, having studied the letter with an unreadable expression.

“I didn't contact him!” she now insisted.

“There was a letter this morning!” Miss Green pitched in. “I thought at first it was one of your love-letters, Miss McAster.”

The brunette blushed furiously, when she felt the eyes of everybody in the room rest on her. Addressing her notes to the dancing school had seemed a good idea at the time.

“But on second thought the hand on the envelope was slightly different. Similar, but different,” the old teacher continued.

“Someone pretending to be me?” Charly asked outraged.

“Do you have an idea where he keeps his letters?” the Inspector inquired hastily before realising that Phryne was already riffling through the drawers of the dressing table. A moment later she fished a pile of envelopes from it. Charly's blush deepened as she watched the Lady Detective flick through her sweet nothings. But Phryne was for once not in the slightest bit interested in the saucy details of other people's private lives.

“It's not here,” she stated, her voice betraying that she was close to snapping. “Jack, it's not here!”

Jack resisted the urge to touch her for comfort. She looked like a locked up tigress, but she would crumble if she allowed herself to be weak. They couldn't afford that right now. Not while Jane was out there.

“There was no sender,” Mia Green chipped in. “I am so sorry I can't be of help.”

She truly was, but the Inspector only nodded at her. Phryne pulled herself upright, trying to think.

“What have we missed, Jack? We must have missed something!”

He gulped. There were so many puzzle pieces and none of them fit. He thought of Mr. Wilt, of the pharmacy. Something was trying to get his attention.

“Miss Green, who was in the room when you discussed the elderberry jam with Mrs. Steeger?” he asked. She scrunched up her face in thought.

“Just about anyone,” she answered truthfully. “It was about two weeks back, during a short break in dancing lessons. Do you recall anyone paying much attention, Melody?” she asked the girl, who was whispering with her sister while Harry stood pale and silent in the back. Now Mel shook her head.

“I wasn't following the conversation, Miss Green...” She wrung her hands, seemingly trying to gather her confidence. “And I don't know if it's at all relevant... but Vicky was behaving very strangely this morning. She also had a bandage on her wrist and looked very ill.”

“Madame Claudine sent her home,” Miss Green added. “It didn't improve her mood at all.”

Jack wasn't listening anymore, instead mumbling quietly to himself as things fell into place.

“Of course. Invisible, but with her ears everywhere.”

His eyes locked with Phryne's, revealing that her brain had come to the same conclusion. Then he turned to Mia Green. “We need the address of Miss Adams! Right now!”

X

“Vicky, what are you trying to do?”

Jane sat, leaning against the door, the cool wood in her back an incredible comfort. Her attempt at the lock had been futile and she didn't dare even approach the window with the gun lying cold and dangerous beside Vicky on the bedside table. The girl hadn't moved in minutes and wasn't speaking anymore.

“Vicky?”

The other girls voice sounded hollow when she finally answered.

“We'll head to another world. Julian and I. There is no redemption here for us.”

Jane shivered.

“I don't think he wants to die,” she pointed out carefully.

“He is just as responsible as I am...” Vicky said slowly. “Julian is a good man. He was overcome with guilt when I told him. There is no need for him to stay behind.”

“Charly still loves him!” Jane exclaimed. A moment later the barrel of a gun was aimed at her. She cowered closer to the floor, scared to death of the dark eyes staring at her over the cold weapon.

“Don't say that! You don't know anything about love,” Vicky insisted. “It's agony.”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the bang.

“I love Harry,” she heard herself say instead.

It was a strange sentence. Until now, she hadn't even allowed herself to think such a thing. But now that it was out it wanted to be spoken some more.

“Does he reciprocate your feelings?” a voice asked her, shaking her out of her reverie.

Jane opened her eyes, realising that the weapon had returned to it's place.

“I think he's sweet on Lilah,” she admitted after a long moment of silence, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“So, you're heart is broken too?” Victoria asked. Jane realised her mistake too late. The crazy girl smiled. “You can come with us.”

“I don't want to!”

“Don't worry, it won't hurt at all. You'll just fall asleep.”

Jane sensed that there was no point in arguing with the girl. She glanced at the window. It was narrow, sitting high in the wall. Even if she'd manage to smash it, she wasn't certain if she'd be able to crawl through it before a bullet hit her back. Just then, Julian moaned in his sleep.

“It's all right, love. Soon we'll be united forever,” Vicky smiled, stroking his cheek. The man's lids fluttered, but he didn't wake.

“It's time,” Victoria said, picking up the vial. Jane watched breathlessly as she filled a syringe with the deadly fluid.

“They didn't mention that it might kill him,” Victoria murmured more to herself than her witness. “Only that it makes people behave crazily. I just wanted her to humiliate herself.”

Jane wrapped her arms tighter around her legs. This was definitely not how she had imagined finding a murderess at all. She silently prayed that her parents would figure it out - right now would be a very good time.

A quiet sound at the front of the house sparked a smidgen of hope. She listened, but nothing happened. And she was running out of time. Victoria seemed oblivious to anything around her, including Jane's big eyes watching her every move. The pistol still lay harmless and deadly in the afternoon light and Jane counted her chances to get to it before Vicky shot her.

When the needle pierced Riley's skin, something in Jane's head snapped. With a howl she stormed across the room, flinging herself at the girl. A hand hit her in the face, trying to fend her off. Jane tore at Vicky's arm, but the older girl was stronger and pushed her away, flinging her against the wall. When the stars in front of her eyes subsided, Jane found herself again staring at the weapon that shook in Victoria's angry hand.

“Don't you dare!” the girl spat. “This is the only way. _This_ is the only way.”

Jane pulled herself to her feet, clutching at her sore nose. She'd had just about enough.

“It's not my fault that you were too ignorant to drug your rival properly!” she screamed. “I don't want to die for your stupidity and neither does Mr. Riley. Now stop it!”

The girl stared at her with her mouth open.

“You don't understand,” she whispered.

“I do!” Jane insisted, pulling herself to her full height. “You killed Mr. Steeger and now you want to kill me and Julian! I won't let you!”

There was as crash at the front of the house now, this time unmistakable. Jane could hear someone scream her name who sounded an awful lot like Phryne.

“I just want this to end,” Vicky whispered, the gun still shaking in her hand.

“Well, you don't need me for that!” Jane screamed, fully aware that people would be able to hear her. “I didn't murder anyone.”

The sound of splintering glass drew her attention towards the window. Charly McAster let a heavy piece of wood sink, panting heavily.

“Drop the weapon, you deranged shrew!”

Something about her words snapped Victoria out of her silent confusion. She turned, aiming the weapon at the intruder in her backyard. Charlotte vanished just when a bullet bounced off the window frame, burying itself in the wall.

“No!”

The blur of a man threw himself onto Vicky, causing both bodies to tumble to the floor right beside Jane, tearing her to the ground with them. She crawled out from underneath the thrashing bundle of limbs and grabbed for the first thing she could find, trying to smash it onto the head of Victoria, who was now somewhere between screaming and crying.

But just when Jane raised the heavy bedside lamp the entangled bodies spun and instead of it's target, the brass came down onto the back of Julian's head. He collapsed with a sigh, trapping the girl underneath him. In the same moment an old brown shoe kicked the bedroom door in.

“Jane!”

The girl found herself wrapped in a set of warm arms that smelled of French perfume and fear. Jack fished the abandoned weapon from the floor, aiming his own at Victoria, who still struggled in an attempt to get free in a string of hysteric sobs.

Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly in his daughter's direction and waited for her nod before going on to worry about the unconscious Julian Riley and the girl trapped underneath the weight of his body.

“Julian!? Darling?”

Charlotte's dress showed some tears from climbing through a tiny, broken window, but she didn't seem particularly bothered by that as she stroked her lover's sore head. He groaned, returning to the land of the living.

“Charly?”

“You know, you didn't have to go to this much effort to get my attention,” she smiled thinly, continuing to tenderly stroke his head. He answered with a shaky grin before slowly pulling himself upright with the help of Inspector Robinson and the woman who obviously still loved him.

Victoria finally scrambled to her knees.

“She tried to drug Mrs. Steeger,” Jane explained, when Phryne had finished her attempt at suffocating her in her arms. “And when her jam accidentally murdered_ Mr._ Steeger, she wanted to take her own life and drag us along with her.”

Jack shot Miss Adams a look that could have killed before heaving her to her legs and closing the handcuffs around her wrists.

“You should consider leaving the sleuthing to us in future,” he said in a serious tone that hid completely what he really wanted to say. Jane opened her mouth to protest that she hadn't meant to sleuth at all, but closed it again, when she spotted who was standing in the door.

“You scared me to death,” Mel said, walking up to her and wrapping her in her arms without another word. Jane hugged her tightly, when she felt someone else brush her shoulder.

“I'm glad you are all right,” Harry said quietly. “I was being stupid to insist, wasn't I?”

Jane nodded.

“It's a dangerous business.”

She turned to Phryne, who was watching the scene with a smile. Jane's heart was still racing in her chest, but the adrenaline was slowly wearing off, making her realise that she was cold in her soaked clothes.

“So is your debutante ball,” her mother quipped. “But we might have to get you all home if you still want to attend,” she said calmly. Jack returned from outside where he had handed over Miss Adams to his just arrived men.

“I think I might have to withdraw from the ball, Phryne,” she heard someone else say behind herself. Julian sat on the edge of the bed, now pulling a face as he rubbed the sore back of his head. “I'm feeling a little dizzy. Your daughter has a pretty thorough hit.”

“I wasn't aiming at you!” Jane explained quickly. He smiled thinly, wrapping an arm around his lover's waist.

“Of course you weren't. I believe I owe you a lot of gratitude for finding me in the first place.”

Jane blushed a tiny bit while the young dancer's eyes sought out Charlotte's. “But I fear I'll still have to miss your debut. We have a lot to talk about.”

“More than you know,” Jack mumbled under his breath in quiet satisfaction. Phryne was the only one who had heard him and grinned.

“_After _I have gotten you to a doctor,” Charlotte growled, helping Julian to his feet.

“As you wish,” he grinned, briefly squeezing Mrs. Robinson's hand as they walked past her. She stayed behind with a warm fuzzy feeling and a tiny bit of disappointment. She had rather been looking forward to tangoing across the floor with Julian tonight. When she resurfaced from this thought, she found herself intensely looked at by Jane.

“You had better head back to St. Kilda,” Jack said beside them, inspecting his watch. “I will drop off Mr. Taylor and Melody at home before heading to the station.”

“You aren't coming?” Jane asked.

Jack gulped, finding Phryne's eyes.

“I'm sorry, Jane, there is a lot of work attached to closing a case.”

She looked so downhearted that despite the people who were now swarming the room, the Inspector finally gave into the feelings crowding his chest and hugged her tightly to himself.

“I'm really sorry,” he whispered beside her ear. She nodded into his neck, battling down tears of relief and disappointment equally.

“It's all right,” she whispered in return.

Jack just held on, thanking the Heavens that they she had survived her adventure without a scratch. He would talk with her later, tell her how proud he was and give her a thorough scolding for her rashness. But, this was not the place or time for it. He finally detangled himself from his daughter and pulled Phryne into a brief kiss. She returned his gesture, her body language explaining to him exactly how well she understood all his mixed emotions.

Yet the Inspector still couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment as he walked out the room, followed by a reluctant Harry Taylor and Melody McAster. He would spend all evening and most of the night trying to unfold the details of this crime while he had been hoping to watch Jane join polite society and maybe even demonstrate his newly acquired dancing skills to Phryne. After today's events he felt the urge to be with his family stronger than ever. Yet his duty had to take priority.

The three of them drove in silence through the grey afternoon while he fought the lump tightening his throat.

“Thank you for taking us,” Melody said finally. “I know you didn't want to.”

In fact there had been some argument, but neither of the kids had been willing to stay behind and Phryne had finally overruled him in order to save time, as long as they remained outside the house.

“You owe that to my wife,” he said, somewhat grumpily, but shot the girl a small smile. Silence settled in again.

“I wouldn't want to spoil your debut, but I do need you to come to the station tomorrow to explain exactly what you were thinking, trying to investigate a murder on your own.”

“We weren't really thinking at all,” Harry mumbled from the back seat. Jack found himself somewhat surprised at his honesty.

“We considered it a bit of harmless fun,” Mel admitted quietly.

“There is nothing fun about exposing a murderer,” Jack said sharply, aware that that wasn't the full truth. He enjoyed the chase, the adrenaline pumping through his veins while he raced to a conclusion by Phryne's side. But he wasn't going to share that with these children and certainly not with Jane. He feared it was too late for that anyway. She was a chip of the old block, even if none of the brickwork was in any form biologically related.

“Dont we know it? It was definitely not as harmless as we thought,” Harry mumbled.

The Inspector wasn't willing to argue with that. For the adolescents the conclusion of this particular case must have been a complete shock. In fact he was rather certain that he wouldn't forget it in a hurry himself.

They dropped off Melody at her doorstep. For a few minutes two men sat in complete quietude as the car moved through the darkening streets.

“Do you think she really is all right?” Harry finally asked.

Jack took his eyes from the road long enough to glance at him.

“She's a strong girl,” he answered vaguely. Harry hummed under his breath, obviously unhappy with the answer.

“I didn't mean to get her in danger, you must believe that,” he said after another pause. Jack pulled a grimace. He'd have loved to pin this on Jane's suitor but that would have been hardly fair.

“Jane managed that all by herself,” he finally answered. “She gets the recklessness from her mother.”

Harry grinned out the window at this. He of course knew the stories about the Honourable Phryne Fisher.

“They are mostly on this earth to drive us insane, aren't they?” he asked. Jack chose not to answer that.

Tiny raindrops smashed against his window as he pulled into a drive way and stopped the motorcar.

When the boy turned to climb out, he laid a hand onto his arm. Harry Taylor turned.

“If you truly like her I would advice you to not hold back,” the Inspector said calmly. The boy nodded slowly, sensing a but that followed a mere moment later. “But never forget that I am a police officer.”

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly in a hurry to escape the confinement of the car.

“Of course, Sir.”

Jack watched him with a small grin scrambling away through the rain before he drove towards the station to what promised to be an exciting evening of paperwork.


	39. Cotillion

“What's bothering you?” Dot asked, when she pinned up a corner of the dress. Jane thought for a moment what had given her away.

“Nothing,” she lied quickly when her mother stepped back through the door. Phryne was in a strangely happy mood that reeked of being fake. Jane guessed she could match that. She twirled in the dress in front of her mirror, catching the look the two women shared behind her back.

“What?” she required to know.

“What's wrong?” Phryne asked, slipping a piece of jewelry around her neck. Jane watched her efforts with mixed feelings. The dress was beautiful and she had to admit that she looked indeed very nice. But there was still this nasty feeling hiding in her stomach that made the idea of attending the ball horrible and here was her chance. She could probably escape if she just pretended to have suffered a shock from her adventure with a crazed murderess.

“I don't want to go,” she blurted out instead. Phryne's hands stilled where they had fiddled with the clasp of the necklace.

“But why?” Dot asked instead. “You were so keen!”

Jane chewed on her lip, searching out her mother's eyes in the mirror. Phryne just looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“I don't belong there,” she finally mumbled.

“Of course you do,” Dot protested.

“No, I don't!” Jane insisted, staring into the mirror. “I have not been born in a big mansion and my life's goal is not to marry rich and sit at home with a pile of well-behaved children!”

“But nobody tells you to do that!” Dorothy said firmly. “You can be anything you want to be. A doctor like Doctor MacMillan or a detective or maybe a writer, or...”

Jane turned, wanting to hug her friends simply for stepping out of her own small world and trying to convince her that she could have it all. She realised that her mother had fallen completely silent.

“Dot, would you please fetch the pearls from my bedroom?” Phryne said. “I think this necklace doesn't really suit the dress.”

Dot looked from one woman to the other, closing her mouth in the middle of a stream of words. Then she hurried off, fully aware that Phryne was trying to talk to her daughter alone. After the door had closed, Phryne sat down at the edge of Jane's bed, stretching her arm out for the girl to join her. Jane slipped down by her side.

“You know that she's right, don't you?” the Lady-Detective asked after a moment, “you can be anything you like, no matter where you are from.”

Jane nodded.

“I was born in Collingwood. I've just become lucky,” Phryne continued.

“So have I,” Jane said, her eyes staring in the distance.

“Actually I suspect you conquered our hearts very much deliberately,” Phryne smiled, pulling her into a sideways hug.

“Maybe,” Jane grinned. There was silence in which the wind brushed a branch against the bedroom window.

“That is not really the point though, is it?”

“It's Lilah,” Jane admitted after a pause. “She is so perfect and pretty and elegant and...”

“...rather familiar with young Mr. Taylor?” Phryne finished the sentence.

Jane glanced at her sheepishly and shrugged her shoulders.

Her foster mother took a deep breath.

“You know the secret to a boy falling in love with you doesn't lie in beauty or elegance or good manners.” Jane chewed on her lips, while she listened. “It's about being you. And if he hasn't fallen head over heels already for my wonderful daughter, he's an imbecile who shouldn't be looked at twice.”

Jane giggled at this, snuggling into her mother's shoulder.

“Now, what shall we do with this dress?” Phryne asked. “Do you want to take it off or are you brave enough to face them?”

Jane thought about this for a long moment. It was a nice dress and she had really been looking forward to the ball.

“I think after wrestling a killer I can even deal with Mrs. Blair,” she decided.

“That's what I like to hear,” Phryne smiled. “But I had better look after Dot, she seems to have gotten lost in my jewelry drawer.”

X

“I overheard a conversation between Mr. Wilt and the Professor,” the pale girl explained. “They weren't aware I was listening. Nobody ever seems to be.”

Jack nodded, locking his arms over his chest to protect himself from the devastation meeting him in this story.

“What were they talking about?” he asked when she seemed unwilling to continue.

“Professor Altman was very excited about this plant growing in his park. He told an anecdote about someone who poisoned themselves. Stripped naked and wandered through a forest. It sounded funny.” She wrung her hands on the table. “Not like it would have the ability to kill anyone.”

“So you decided to poison Mrs. Steeger?” he asked.

Victoria looked at him out of deep, dark eyes.

“No, I just... sorted it away. I don't forget things. They just stay there in my brain, hibernating.”

Jack leaned back, nodding. He remembered his own words. An almost ingenious mind that didn't come in the form he had expected. Sometimes the line between genius and madness was a very thin one.

“I've been in love with Julian for as long as I can remember. It's so unfair that he would dance with Mrs. Steeger, and Madame and even your wife – but he didn't ask me once.”

“Do you dance, Miss Adams?” Jack asked, with some surprise.

“I read everything there is to it,” she said stubbornly. The Inspector nodded. He hadn't thought so.

“And then a week ago I spilled water on his jacket and I found this letter...”

The Inspector waited for her to continue.

“You don't understand, I just wanted her to make a fool of herself. Show him that she wasn't perfect either.”

“And it didn't occur to you that it could be dangerous to feed Mrs. Steeger poison? That someone else could eat the jam?”

Vicky shrugged, chewing on her lip.

“I didn't know that he was sick,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to kill him!”

Jack drew a deep breath in order to not strangle the girl for her thoughtlessness.

“But you did mean to murder Mr. Riley. And Jane!”

He didn't get any answer. Jack pulled himself to his feet with the strong urge to leave the room and get a breath of fresh air. He couldn't stand Miss Adam's presence right now, fearing that he might hurt her if she didn't give him a satisfying answer soon, why on earth she would have attempted to kill his daughter in her crazed idea of suicide.

“What happens now?” a tiny voice asked behind him as he reached the door. He turned. She was crying. In the end she was just a girl, barely older than Jane. A girl who had lost her mind after accidentally killing somebody.

“Foster!” he called. The Constable showed a moment later. “Please bring Miss Adams downstairs. We'll continue this in the morning, after she's had some rest.”

He marched to his office, slamming the door shut behind himself before dropping onto the hard wooden chair that was his second home. With a sigh he stared at the pile of paperwork waiting for him, glanced at his watch. Jane was currently curtsying, soon she'd be up to the dancing. There were moments when he really hated his duties.

X

“I am assuming they have gone?” Riya asked. Mr. Butler confirmed her suspicion a little unsure if welcoming her into the house was appropriate. Mrs. Robinson had not harboured the best of opinions about her old friend lately and she was his employer after all. Riya didn't wait for his decision, slipping past him into the hall together with the large package underneath her arm. Tobias closed the door before following her into the parlour where she was currently leaning a picture frame against a chair before pulling the cover away. He tilted his head, measuring what he suspected to be a peace offering with serious eyes. 

“It's quite beautiful,” he admitted. “But to my knowledge they've never...”

Riya stepped towards him, silencing him with a finger to the lips and a tiny smile.

“Contrary to popular belief a painter _does _need to possess some imagination. It isn't all arranging flowers into vases.”

He nodded, inspecting the picture closer, admiring the lines and colours. Her imagination had certainly been very lifelike.

“I will have to ask you this,” he said after a long moment of silence. “You must have known he would grow to enjoy it?”

Riya's smile turned broader as she took in her lover's thoughtful eyes, the small wrinkles covering his face. He was a very smart man and she counted herself lucky to have found him. So, a honest answer was inevitable.

“The Inspector would never have allowed himself a frivolous joy like tango unless it was for very good reasons.”

“A dangerous game,” Mr. Butler pointed out.

“I may have underestimated their ability to miscommunicate in the strangest of fashions,” Riya sighed. “But luckily my spies tell me they have sorted their differences.”

“It appears they have,” he grinned. 

“I am glad. I couldn't have forgiven myself if my meddling had done serious damage to their marriage. Nevertheless it is a lesson learned.”

He led her out into the hall, for the first time properly taking in her attire. Even for her clothing style she had made an extravagant choice tonight.

“Are you going out?” he asked.

“I have been invited to a debutante ball,” Riya smiled. “Would you care to join me?”

Tobias hesitated. His resilience against public appearances with his lover were a ongoing discussion between them and while he had overcome his reservation in regards to most of Riya's company, his employers were still where he was drawing the line.

“A frivolous joy, Tobias,” she prompted gently. He looked at her and found a very good reason in her dark eyes. Aside from that he truthfully wanted to witness Jane's coming out.

“I would be honoured.”

She inspected her watch in an effort to hide her delight about his decision.

“I believe we are running late.”

While he hurried off to find his dinner jacket in the very same place it always occupied, she stood near the parlour door, taking a last look at the painting she had spent the last week on. Letting go of one of her pieces always held a certain amount of melancholy, especially when it suffered an unknown fate. Despite that she was quite pleased with her work. The two dancers on the canvas ignored their audience, completely absorbed in each other and the music.


	40. Tango

She was bent over her baby boy, blowing a raspberry to his tiny belly. Thomas gurgled happily. Dot finished changing him with a smile illuminating her face. When she heard the door open behind her, she turned to look at Hugh, freshly returned from his shift and about to unbutton his uniform jacket. He stepped closer, giving his wife a kiss and stroking his son's sparse hair. A pair of big blue eyes looked back at him.

“How did you stop him from screaming?” he asked in a whisper, as if any loud word might enrage his son again. Dot shrugged.

“I didn't. He seems happy enough.”

“That is almost a miracle.”

Dot smiled while she put little Tommy to sleep and listened to Hugh getting changed. She wondered briefly if the many tensions in the house had been responsible for the boy's unsettled mood in the first few days of his life. Watching the tiny face drift off to the land of dreams she hummed a little melody for good measure. As much as she loved their son – spending an uninterrupted hour or two with her husband sounded like a heavenly idea. Just as the thought crossed her mind, a gentle arm wrapped around her waist, Hugh's chin resting against her head. Dot leaned into his warm embrace without taking her eyes off the crib.

“We are very lucky,” Hugh said.

“Indeed we are.”

Dot turned in his arms to face him. His expression was full of tender love and joy, sparking a warm feeling in her chest. She had a family. A beautiful son and a loving husband. What more could she ask for?

“What's on your mind?” Hugh asked, wrapping her into his arms. She grinned cheekily.

“I was thinking that change mustn't always be a bad thing.”

Despite the obvious confusion displayed on his features he settled for her explanation and she reached up to kiss him.

“I am sorry that we couldn't go to Jane's ball tonight,” he stated when they'd separated again. Dot shrugged.

“Since I stubbornly refused the offer of a nurse, I can hardly complain.”

Hugh nodded, sending another prayer of thanks to the Lord in Heaven. He felt relief in every corner of his mind that his sensible Dottie was back and missed that his wife had fallen silent.

“Hugh?” she asked after a moment.

He noticed his son stirring and pressed a finger to his lips, gently tiptoeing out the room and pulling Dot along with him.

“What is it?” he asked when they arrived downstairs in still heavenly silence. She hesitated.

“Do you think we should have one?”

“What?”

“A nurse. You see...” she thought this over for a moment. “Mrs. Phryne offered again. She said, if I wanted to stay her assistant I would need someone to take care of Tommy at times and... Does it make me a terrible mother if I want to accept?”

Hugh frowned and she all but regretted having asked.

“Does she have anyone in mind?”

“I... haven't dared ask yet,” Dot admitted. In fact she hadn't even expected him to seriously consider the idea without a tad of nudging. Hugh was a little old-fashioned and she knew that he had always dreamed of a nice house and a family to come home to after he had done his day's work. A wife that wasn't happy with just that certainly didn't fit the plan.

“You had better ask then,” the Constable smiled, pulling her close again. Dot snuggled into his chest with the distinct feeling that she was indeed very, very lucky.

X

Jane felt rather proud as they rotated in perfect harmony over the dance floor. Curtsying to an elderly, grey-haired man had been a strange experience. It also had paled slightly on the excitement scale compared with confronting a murderer. Now here she was back in her element and truly enjoying herself.

Harry's hands were a little sweaty, but then she didn't mind. His grasp felt different tonight, his fingers wrapped a little more firmly around her waist, his eyes never leaving hers as they turned to the waltz. Now he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

“Watch out,” Jane exclaimed.

The narrowly escaped a collision with Lilah and Gabriel.

“S... sorry,” he stammered, slightly blushing. Jane thought it must be the most charming thing in the world. Lilah smiled at them and the other couple proceeded on. Jane couldn't help the feeling that the girl was steering Gabriel rather than the other way round.

“You know, I have known her since we were children,” Harry said after trying to get their feet untangled and back into the rhythm. Jane hummed, slightly miffed. Even now he couldn't stop talking about Lilah. “She is a bit like a sister, actually,” he admitted, looking embarrassed. Jane sought out Lilah's eyes, who looked at her across the room and grinned. She couldn't remember ever having witnessed the girl grin before.

“I see,” Jane mumbled. So, she might have gotten a hold of the wrong end of the stick. She returned her attention to her dancing partner and realised that he was watching her intently. 

“I rather thought you... liked her,” she added after a pause.

“I do like her,” he stammered. “But not in the way I like you.”

Jane's heart skipped a beat. The excitement spreading through her chest could definitely conquer the experience of wrestling with a killer. Harry looked like he was about to pass out from anxiety. Neither of them noticed that their feet had stilled in a far corner of the dance floor, somewhat shadowed by the pillars, but far from hidden to the public eye.

“I'm so sorry about... you know... you almost being killed...” he said quickly, stumbling over his words. “It was all my fault. I was being so stupid, but your parents are all over the newspapers and my family is completely normal and I'm scared of snakes and I hate going in the cellar in the dark and I didn't want you to think... and then when you just left I panicked and I couldn't come up with anything better than seeing your mother...”

Jane raked her brain for anything that would stop him, tell him that she didn't care if he was a hero and that she was very much able to make her own decisions, thank you very much, even stupid ones - but every coherent thought died in the force of the confession that spilled from his mouth like a waterfall of words. So she pulled herself onto the tips of her toes and brought her lips to his. The silence was instant.

Jane felt a sharp intake of breath, but after a brief moment of surprise Harry kissed back. It was odd, she caught herself thinking, how the simple act of pressing your lips to someone elses could cause a firework in your stomach. Then she stopped thinking. There was time for that later on. Now there was the sensation of his hands holding her ever so gently and his warm mouth. Their noses collided when they attempted to change position and caused them to break apart breathlessly. Eyes were borrowing into them, but they chose to not look around.

“I believe we are being watched,” Jane whispered with butterflies all through her stomach. Harry just nodded, but the silly grin on his face seemed to be unmovable.

Across the room Phryne turned away with a satisfied smile, sipping on her champagne. She was truly pleased how things were working out for Jane, despite knowing of Jack's reservations. Of course, love always held the chance of getting hurt. Considering Jane's past it was surprising that the girl approached it with such an open heart. Her foster mother could only hope that she'd be able to retain that ability. 

The Detective's thoughts wandered to Jack during a spell of polite small-talk with Mrs. Weston. While she was still disappointed that her tango with Julian had fallen through, it was truly her husband's absence she regretted. Spending the evening apart felt inappropriate and wrong after their reconciliation, yet he had to wrap up his case and she couldn't leave Jane's big moment to lend him a hand. 

But she _could _visit his office on her way home, might even be able to talk him into coming with her, she resolved. Phryne didn't think she could stand another night alone in her cold bed. There had been too many lately. 

“All of the fabric was imported from Paris,” she answered the inquiry after her dress.

“Madame Fleuri really is an artist,” her conversation partner exclaimed with what was a little too much enthusiasm to be purely honest. Phryne yawned inwardly. She was bored of the pointless talking, the chitter-chatter of 'polite society'. Jack wanting to join her in this social circle was actually a lovely thought, yet she wasn't sure how to explain to him how glad she was that he wasn't a great fit. Her Inspector was real in this world of glitter and empty phrases.

When the Inspector quoted Shakespeare or sat down at the piano it wasn't just an effort to impress, it had a meaning. And that of all things had angered her the most about his secret dancing lessons. Phryne didn't want him to change for her or anyone else and it offended her that he thought her willing to press him into a mold to achieve her 'ideal husband'. 

It occurred to Mrs. Robinson that they had still more talking to do after tonight. She didn't want a single stone untouched, no false tunes left in their hearts. 

Phryne sensed the mood in the room change and snapped out of her musing to turn and find out who had arrived. The subtle difference in the conversations, the quiet whispers were all too familiar. Often enough the Honourable Phryne Fisher had been at the receiving end of the ultimate attention. But tonight it was someone else's turn and a group of people parted to show her who it was. She started.

Then she almost dropped her glass.

Jack walked towards her through the crowd, not paying attention to anyone but her. She had never seen the suit he was wearing and her expertise told her that he had overcome his fear of being conceived a rich man for tonight. As a matter of fact he seemed to enjoy turning heads. And that he did as he approached her, tall, proud, the picture of a man. Phryne's heart sped up when he stretched out his hand. She took it, realising that her fingers were cold with excitement. 

“Miss Fisher,” he smiled.

“Inspector Robinson. How lovely of you to join us.”

“I couldn't let my daughter have her debut completely without me. Speaking of which, where is Jane?”

Phryne turned towards where she had spotted the girl last in Harry's company.

“She seems to have disappeared,” she stated with some satisfaction. A dance floor was not the best of places for young lovers. 

“Along with Mr. Taylor, I trust,” Jack grinned. Phryne scrutinized him for a long moment but realised that there was no hostility. He seemed to be coming to terms with a whole lot of things tonight. His eyes were glimmering in amusement and joy and made it completely impossible not to kiss him. They detached their lips after a few moments, both somewhat out of breath.

“You look very handsome, Jack,” Phryne whispered beside his ear. “I believe Mrs. Rockman is close to fainting.”

Jack just grinned, glancing down her own frock that had been altered by Ren ee Fleuri with the necessary movement of tango in mind. 

“I believe any comment on your dress is superfluous,” the Inspector whispered. “You do not need encouragement.”

She playfully squeezed his hands, reading in his expression that he didn't mind her attire in the slightest.

“Which reminds me,” he pulled a pile of folded papers from his inner pocket, “you were correct as usual. The artefacts we recovered from Madame Claudine's possessions are the ones reported stolen in the years of 1908 and 1909 by various Parisian museums. In fact there has been a telegram from the Louvre, regarding a particular frog. And Collins uncovered some information on Edith Germain.”

He handed her the paperwork which Phryne flicked through eagerly. Most of it confirmed what she had already known, but the picture of a woman looking stunningly similar to Madame Claudine caught her attention. The likelihood was impressive, save her dark hair and eyes.

“She died on Tenerife in 1922 from the effects of a flu,” Jack explained. “And left an excessive estate to her sister.”

Phryne nodded.

“She appears more of a black panther,” she finally stated calmly, handing the picture back.

“She certainly does.” Jack smiled, tilting his head while he stored the papers away. “But then, it was a long time ago.”

Mrs. Robinson considered to ask whether he was going to leave it to that. She decided that there was no point to it - she already knew the answer.

“The artworks will be returned to their rightful owners after an exhibition in Melbourne if the head of the National Gallery has his way.”

“Of course they deserve that for their remarkable help in the case,” Phryne stated sarcastically.

“Now, Miss Fisher, we might have to try and work on our ability to overlook certain missteps,” Jack smiled, fishing a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray in one smooth movement.

“And why would we do that, Jack?”

Her innocent flutter of lashes was a provocation that he wouldn't have.

“Because our daughter is considering us foolish by now,” he grinned, taking a sip. The cold liquid tingled down his throat. “And also because I have no intentions of losing you through some stupid misunderstanding or another.”

The last was said without any of the playful undertone that had ruled the rest of the conversation. Phryne's voice was just as sincere when she answered.

“I am not going anywhere, Jack.”

She remembered Mac's words and the motivation of her friend's blunt question hit her with sudden clarity. She sought her out, knowing that the redhead was mingling somewhere in the crowd. Phryne found her standing with Mr. Butler, both of them grinning in their direction. A moment later they were joined by Riya Santi, who actually had the cheek to wink at her. Phryne found herself speechless at the amount of manipulation she had fallen prey to. 

“What is it?” Jack enquired, obviously concerned.

“I believe Jane isn't the only one who thinks us fools,” Phryne quipped, draining her glass. The Inspector glanced in the direction of their friends, unable to hide a grin.

“You didn't think that Riya would leave our reconciliation wholly to chance?” he asked.

“You knew-?”

He silenced her with a kiss.

“I did not, but then it is in my occupation to find likely culprits, Miss Fisher.”

She grumbled quietly at this but had to admit that she was grateful for Mac's interference. She would call by Riya's house tomorrow and talk things through.

But right now she was dead set on enjoying the evening with Jack. Glancing at the couples turning to a foxtrot she wondered if she could convince her husband to dance with her.

Before she had a chance to voice her wish the music changed. She held her breath, looking up at him, then glanced at Riya who seemed absorbed in conversation. In no way did Phryne believe her to be innocent.

Jack bit his lip in amusement – a gesture that didn't fully hide his anxiety.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked. Phryne wanted to say something cheeky, but her mouth was too dry to utter any words. So she just took his hand and let him take her to the dance floor. There weren't many people in the room who actually knew what to do with a tango and Phryne felt a thrill in the sudden realisation that Jack did \- or at least so she hoped.

His fingers were subtly trembling when they started walking and Phryne tightened her grip on him. While his feet were in the right places, he didn't seem quite certain and when he looked down at her she discovered in his eyes both: fear and plenty of determination. She couldn't help but smile at the stubbornness with which the Inspector always attacked the most dangerous thing in the room.

Something happened in this very moment, she could physically feel the shift. His back straightened, his muscles strained and the man who had enthralled a whole room by merely walking through the door was back. She sensed people turning as he spun her, eyes glued to them, breathes being held, but none of it mattered as she felt his body guiding her through the music, the sultry notes dancing along their spines. His face was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin, his eyes smouldering with a passion that she knew but had considered too private to ever witness in public. It took her breath away, her heart beating against his where their chests where pressed together. This was far from decent behaviour and Phryne could feel Prudence's eyes bulge like a goldfish's at their obscenity as vividly as if she had actually been watching her aunt. She couldn't bring herself to care. This was Jack unleashed, she suddenly realised, Jack when he forgot to be Inspector Robinson. Tomorrow he would be a police officer again and he would be proper and wear his old brown shoes. Tonight he had decided to be Cinderella and she would do anything to keep him from running at midnight.

He didn't allow her to slip into her thoughts too deeply though because his warm, muscular arm encircled her waist and wrapped her around him, entangling them in a position that defied any morality. How on earth he had learned this in just a few days she really couldn't imagine, but Riya must have missed her calling.

Of course,  Jack's  movements came short in  comparison to  the smoothness of Julian's, the perfection of  Steeger's , but the raw passion of his dance was spine-chilling. Her nerves were buzzing in excitement as he spun, holding her tightly, her leg straddling his hip, turning them both with the rhythm of the music and their hearts. She felt the loss when he gently sat her back down but his eyes were full of love and  excitement and she knew that he too, wasn't going anywhere at all. In fact his hands guided her around him, leading her into some figures that gave her a chance to regain her breath and earn back her composure, yet his hands stayed on her body, reaffirming, possessive, his eyes never leaving her, the pride unmistakable. 

Jack felt like he had entered the trance that he by now associated with the dance but tonight it was irresistible, all-consuming. Holding this astounding, beautiful woman in his arms, feeling her heart beat against his, being allowed to spin with her in the middle of the room instead of watching from the sidelines felt like a dream and he prayed that he wouldn't ever wake up. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was fully aware of his scandalous behaviour - he truly couldn't have cared any less.

There was an irresistible freedom in doing what your heart desired, feeling the wind in your hair and the music in your bones. And a look in Phryne's flushed face made him realise that he had been wrong. She hadn't lost her spirit. If anything she had gained beauty.

Her eyes were dark and flirtatious as her fingers slipped over the taunt muscles of his back, his neck, her touch causing electricity to shoot along his spine as if lightning had struck him. He pivoted, wrapping her around his leg, her thigh slipping over his. By now it was all instinct, the figures Riya had drilled into him just a subtle memory at the back of his mind and it astounded him that somehow, as if by magic, it worked. Phryne moved around him, sweat slicking her arm as he grasped onto her, pulling her close, their lips now almost touching. Her heels were a blur, sharply kicking through the air, just barely missing his calf. Miss Fisher was a dangerous woman, even on the dance floor.

Jack flipped her, dropping her in a dramatic gesture backwards. She fell before being caught safely in his arms. He could hear a gasp somewhere in the distance, but had no time to consider this as his attention was torn back to his wife who had used the chance to spin, her back now pressed against his chest. A moment later the Inspector was completely lost in the sensation of her slowly, sensually slipping down his body, his own hands following the outline of her hips.

The desire in his touch was unmistakable to Phryne and she felt her own body respond to the embrace, the music, the excitement. She would have to get him out of here soon if she wasn't planning to seduce him in front of their audience. But the music still danced along their muscles, moved their limbs in complete abandon, no touch lost, no gesture forgotten, the tango burning itself into their memories. Nothing else mattered, just Jack and she and their bond that was in the end stronger than temptation and foolishness.

They both had lost their breath when they finally came to a halt, her leg straddling his hips, his hand grasping onto her thigh, their eyes locked, both panting with effort and intensity. It took them a moment to come to terms with where they were. Jack had almost forgotten their audience and briefly it occurred to him that Jane was out there somewhere, probably embarrassed beyond belief at her parent's display. His eyes swept over the crowd of people staring at them with expressions reaching from fascination to shock. Finally he found her on one of the balconies, framed by Harry, Lilah and Melody, the latter excitedly giggling. But he wasn't interested in Mel's thoughts on their tango. Jane stared down at them with big, shiny eyes. When she noticed his look she grinned proudly and Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

“I think we had better get out of here before the police arrives,” Phryne whispered beside his ear, her voice betraying amusement. Someone was clapping quietly in the back. A few people joined in.

“I am the police, Miss Fisher,” Jack quipped, but took her hand and pulled her through the crowd which now seemed to resurface from their collective confusion.

Fresh night air greeted them outside, cooling their heated skin. Jack offered his arm and they rushed through the moonlight dipped garden in an effort to shake off their giddiness even more than to escape from the scandal they had doubtlessly caused.

“You were mistaken,” Phryne said after a minute or two, when they reached a beautiful small path leading through old trees. Her husband, who had been busy deciphering the millions of tiny sensations fighting for the upper hand in his body and mind murmured something that could have been an inquiry. “You _were _born a dancer,” she stated firmly. He started.

“A dancer in a Detective-Inspector's body,” he joked, unable to hide how much her words flattered him.

“A man who is capable of both,” Phryne smiled, stopping him. She gently reached up, tracing his jawline with her hand. “And not a fool at all,” she added after a moment.

Jack couldn't suppress a cheeky grin. She really wasn't used to making amends, but she was trying all the same.

“'Not at all' may be an exaggeration of facts,” he quipped.

There was silence while her thumb trailed down his neck with full concentration.

“Do you believe you can live with a wife who lacks in certain respects?” Phryne asked, raising her eyes at him.

“Like what, Miss Fisher?” he teased gently.

“Like paying enough consideration to her words.”

“I wouldn't have her any other way,” Jack breathed before taking her exploring hand from his neck and brushing a kiss to the tip of her fingers. There was a pause.

“Well, that's certainly a relief,” Phryne quipped cheerily, attempting to not let on just how much that was the truth.

She took his arm and they wandered through the night in silence, both deeply absorbed in their musing.

“Jack?”

The Inspector knew that tone of voice and tilted his head, glancing at her dark features in anticipation of her sharing her deepest thoughts.

“I wouldn't change a thing, if you must know.”

There was just the blood rushing in his ears while he tried to come to terms with her meaning. She finally continued: “I may be tempted to challenge you at times and I believe it's completely unavoidable that we change as time progresses...”

She gazed at him as if trying to read his mind. Her husband stayed silent, giving away nothing. Phryne took a deep breath and the leap into absolute honesty.

“But there will never be a need to bend yourself into any shape I might desire, Jack. We are on an adventure together.”

He smiled into the darkness as understanding dawned.

“I will keep that in mind, Miss Fisher, when I decide to do anything else utterly reckless.”

His words were nonchalant, in contrast to the way he tenderly pressed her arm. Phryne allowed herself to lay her head against his shoulder.

“Please do.”

They continued their stroll through the night for some time, the wind whispering in the trees above their heads. Soft music swept over from the lit hall. The melody sounded a lot more harmless than tango.

“Do you believe Jane would mind terribly if we retired early tonight?” Phryne asked.

“I haven't known you to be in a rush to head home, Miss Fisher,” Jack grinned, understanding very well why she would feel the desire. His own body hadn't decided to calm down just yet.

“Not home as such,” she smiled enigmatically. He raised his eyebrows at her. “There is a suite at the 'Windsor' that is entirely ours, Jack. You just ought to test the beds. They are heavenly.”

The Inspector gulped, feeling a fire flare up within that he had almost been able to ignore.

“You know, I am some years past my 20s birthday,” he protested for good measure. “I might have to get some sleep tonight.”

They both knew that that possibility was highly unlikely, but to his surprise Phryne shrugged.

“I think we may both benefit from an uninterrupted night.”

In fact the idea of just lying in Jack's strong arms, snuggling into his chest, was more tempting than even the most adventurous sexual encounter, she found with a start. But then they could probably enjoy both. He smiled, obviously following the same train of thought, then frowned.

Phryne was shivering lightly in the cool night air as the thin layer of sweat dried to her skin. Jack wrapped his coat around her shoulders. She didn't protest.

“Do you believe we will live down this scandalous dance?” he asked after another spell of quietude.

Phryne laughed.

“I doubt it very much. But in my experience people become more forgiving the more one misbehaves.”

Jack considered this, grinning.

“Your aunt might have me removed from her premises during her next family dinner.”

The thought wasn't completely without it's upsides.

“Aunt Prudence might dream of you tonight, Jack.”

The Inspector shuddered for entirely different reasons than the cool night.

“That is a possibility I don't wish to entertain.”

“And I would be hard pressed to blame her, Jack.” Phryne smiled, ignoring his objection. “You caused quite a stir in there.”

He tried to take that in. Inspector Robinson wasn't used to being the centre of attention; it was a role he usually was all too happy to leave to his wife. But he could see why it was so intoxicating to her.

“I fear I had not the slightest idea what I was doing,” he admitted with a lopsided grin, “through no fault of Riya's. I just forgot everything she's taught me.”

Again Phryne laughed, a sound that made his stomach tingle.

“Argentine Tango is not a dance that can truly be learned, Jack. It is a feeling. But there is always more to be explored.”

He swallowed thickly. The implication in her words caused his mouth to run dry.

“You might have to teach me,” he requested. Phryne only smiled, turning to wrap him in her arms and his coat. So they stood together underneath the stars, her big eyes looking up at him in a mixture of desire and tenderness.

“Did Riya tell you the secret to a perfect tango, Jack?” she asked. Jack shook his head, completely enthralled by her lips moving in.

“Please do share,” he murmured, their faces so close that he could feel her hot breath on his skin.

“It lies in who you dance with. Two people in perfect understanding.”

“Is that so, Miss Fisher?”

It was barely a cheeky whisper and received no verbal answer. As their lips met, accompanied by the breeze playing with the spring leaves and the moon looking down on them with a silvery smile, there was absolutely no doubt. They had chosen their dancing partners. And it was going to be a long, exciting night.


End file.
